


Still Waking Up

by sleepymccoy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Discussions of Nightmares, Gabriel is a dick, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Post Apocalypse, Slow Burn, Traumatised Crowley, accidental triggering that is handled very gently, and some hits of humour, and they succeed guys, az thinks about sex a bit, aziraphale is very clever and figures things out steadily, aziraphales trauma is much less tangible but still discussed plenty, bed sharing, but he apologises a lot and imo its fair, but i got nothing on the 6000 years, crowley is accidentally a bit mean, crowley is sleeping badly, crowleys demon scales, discussions of trauma, even tho i havent quite finished them, first I love yous, gotta be clear most of it is pretty nice theres just some tones, i might add tags as i post chapters, i think its all happening in a two year period but i havent done the maths, i write happy endings dont worry, imma add tags for some of the stuff i know is in later chapters, its not miscommunication exactly, its not much tho and written in a v fade to black kinda way, more a lack of communication cos things are always nice, nice ending tho, not a fix all bandaid but theres efforts at recovery and building healthy lifestyles, oh yeah aziraphales angel eyes make a few appearances, so yeah thats my heads up, that is to say, the most explicit is probs a reference to efforts lol, this is kinda a trauma recovery fic with bed sharing and mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-01-23 13:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21321310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymccoy/pseuds/sleepymccoy
Summary: Aziraphale has noticed Crowley's odd behavior. Since the Apocalypse he has spotted Crowley outside the shop, just watching, like a watchdog that watches and doesn't come in and explain himself.This fic follows a roughly two year period after the apocalypse in which Crowley admits to nightmares about the bookshop and Aziraphale burning and struggles to come terms with it and ask for help. Aziraphale grows increasingly lonely and purposeless and some of his damage from Heaven rears up. They slowly navigate supporting each other as best they can. Main points of interest are probs bed sharing, much mutual pining, kissing, and softly handled trauma recovery.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 322
Kudos: 757





	1. Chapter 1

It didn’t happen often, but when it did happen it was… strange. 

Aziraphale had noticed the pattern. It had taken some work, but he’d figured out a few key things. The first time he’d only recognised in hindsight, the second time as well, really. He wondered now if it had been the first time or if he simply hadn’t caught it earlier.

He had been dusting the shop calmly, more moving about the space than really working when he’d decided the windows needed some attention. He didn’t bother with humans things that afternoon and simply focused a few extra eyes on the window, studying the grime and dust there to best decide how to tackle cleaning it. As he looked he fancied he saw some red hair across the street, just for a flash between cars. 

He stilled, standing a few meters from the window despite his close study, and looked harder. A break in the afternoon traffic told him what he’d thought, Crowley was sitting on the street bench across the road, sunglasses on, just looking at the shop. 

Well, that was uncommon but not unnerving. Perhaps he was finish a thought and would come in shortly. Aziraphale got the kettle going and put his cleaning equipment away in preparation. It would be good to see Crowley, it had been a few days and he’d missed the company somewhat. However, he swiftly got engrossed in a book and didn’t notice that Crowley didn’t actually come by until the next morning. 

Crowley was attentive the next day, he complained of being a touch tired and not inclined to talk, but was happy to listen so Aziraphale thought nothing further of it. Everyone has their quirks, ageless demons perhaps more so than most. 

The second time was very similar to the first. Aziraphale was in his shop, to any onlookers he would have seemed to be moving about somewhat aimlessly but he was in fact enjoying an extraordinarily slow rendition of a gavotte. He didn’t have the exuberance or company for a proper effort so he walked slowly, at a speed slower than any dance normally encouraged let alone a traditionally fast one, and placed his feet correctly. He read as he went, disregarding the formality of the arms of the dance in favour of holding a book to his face. It was absent minded as an action, but he found it pleasant. 

It was night this time and he glanced out the window as he turned in a slow arc, his leg extended. There, again, at the bench. Crowley. Aziraphale looked away as casually as he could manage without being obvious and blushed. He stopped the gavotte, a silly thing to be doing alone and slowly, simply self indulgent. 

He walked quickly to the couch and sat, far from the window, and busied himself in his book, ready to pretend he had been doing no kind of a dance when Crowley arrived. 

Again, he grew engrossed and didn’t notice until Crowley turned up two days later that he hadn’t come in that night. Aziraphale decided with some humiliation that his foolishness must have been noticed and Crowley in his generous nature had decided not to comment. He was grateful, of course, but he also wished Crowley had just stopped by for a chat. It had been a lonely week. Many of his weeks were lonely on this side of the apocalypse, even with Crowley’s presence. Aziraphale had no direction or performance to maintain and found himself aimless with many hours to waste and he found he missed something. 

In his distraction and relief at some company he did not notice that, again, Crowley was quiet, kept his glasses on, and sat really very close to him. 

Of course these were not the only times they saw each other, Aziraphale was smart and observant and would have picked up on the oddities if this had been the extent of their interactions. But no, these two events were weeks apart and he often saw Crowley upwards of three times a week, and for quite an extended period when they did, and he was his usual self most of the time. His usual self being as varied as it was, it was difficult to spot the pattern. But Aziraphale, as is known, is smart. Therefore on the third occasion, he grew suspicious.

Two weeks after the gavotte incident, Aziraphale was re shelving. It was close to dawn and he was considering opening the shop today. He would have to go through the papers, count the till, remove the book he had been restoring on the coffee table- oh, perhaps it was too much work for one morning. He could prepare today and open tomorrow.

He turned to place a book in its rightful spot on a shelf by the window when he noticed Crowley. He quickly made sure he didn’t look with his human eyes and instead kept busy, kept casual. He opened an extra couple of eyes and watched keenly. 

He was just sitting, but not like he usually did. He wasn't ramrod straight exactly, but he did look tense, nervous. Aziraphale shimmied a few books on the shelf for a full minute, eventually returning them all to where he’d picked them up because they had been originally correct. 

Crowley didn’t move. Aziraphale thought about the last two times he’d seen him, his posture was similar at a glance but Aziraphale hadn’t studied him very closely those times so he couldn’t be certain. 

Well, he definitely wasn’t opening today. He would sit in the chair by the window and keep a floating eye trained on Crowley to see what he would do. 

He did so and two hours passed. Aziraphale did not get involved in his book this time, he didn’t read a word. 

As he was beginning to wonder if he should do away with the pretense and invite Crowley in, Crowley moved for the first time. 

Aziraphale stiffened, watching closely with his back to Crowley. Crowley yawned, stretched an arm, craned his neck, yawned again, and stood. Aziraphale waited, wondering. Crowley left, walking off in the direction of his flat. 

No car, Aziraphale realised. 

Aziraphale waited another hour, keeping an eye on the street as the day began in earnest, but there was no further sign of Crowley. 

The next morning, at an extremely appropriate brunch-type of hour, Crowley arrived with almond croissants in hand and his glasses on. 

Aziraphale cataloged everything, deeply curious and a small bit concerned. 

“How are you, dear?”

“Eh,” Crowley shrugged. He closed the door behind him and left the croissants on the counter. He continued to stand next to Aziraphale rather than make his way to the kitchen for a coffee or the couch for a sit as Aziraphale would have thought.

Aziraphale thanked him for the treat and went to the kitchen. Crowley followed.

“I haven’t seen you for a few days,” Aziraphale said, keeping his back to Crowley, trying to hide his small anxiety at asking. “What have you been up to?”

“Jus’ sleepin’,” Crowley said.

“Sleeping,” Aziraphale repeated. “How is that going?”

“Peth, bah,’ Crowley said vaguely. “Y’know, ‘m’unconscious. ‘m’up now, though.”

Aziraphale faced him, the croissant neatly cut and presented on a lovely plate. “You’re slurring a touch, dear, are you okay?”

Crowley was standing against the kitchen table, so close he was somewhat in the way. He didn’t move as Aziraphale did, rather staying and letting Aziraphale’s elbow graze his arm in passing. He nodded. “Still wakin’,” he mumbled. 

“Would you like a coffee?”

Crowley nodded again. Aziraphale made him a coffee with some difficulty, he was always directly behind him whenever he turned, it was crowded for two like this. Aziraphale didn’t comment on it. 

Aziraphale led them through to the couches and tested a theory by sitting on the two seater. Crowley, who usually bounded to it first and stretched his legs out, instead waited for him to choose before carefully sitting next to him. Aziraphale noticed, with a brief moment of breathlessness himself, that Crowley’s leg tipped casually, normally, and rested perfectly against his thigh. Touching him.

Crowley drank his coffee in silence as Aziraphale enjoyed the croissant. Crowley relaxed slowly over the next hours, the tension in his muscles fading as Aziraphale chatted and complained. Eventually he began responding with comments of his own, rather than just encouraging Aziraphale to talk more, and after perhaps four hours he stood and put together a pot of tea without waiting for Aziraphale to offer so that he could follow him through. When he returned he laughed and finally removed his glasses (odd for him to have them on so long indoors, these days) and sat by Aziraphale without resting his leg on him. 

A month later and there he was again. Aziraphale was cleaning his tea towels. He had opened the window down the side street as it opened the most out of all the windows in the shop and was waving the tea towels out in the air to encourage them to drop their crumbs before giving them a serious wash. 

He dropped one. He leaned out after it to see if he could maybe snatch it up without leaving the shop, but no luck, it sat maudlinly on the ground. That would take quite some cleaning. He sighed and opened a few extra eyes to identify if it was worth collecting or if was it muddied beyond repair. He glimpsed Crowley, just slightly outside of line of sight, but his eyes didn’t need a straight line to see, they could bend the passage of light. Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully and looked at the tea towel for another moment, really watching Crowley as he sat stock still, again. 

Aziraphale decided to give it a go. He made a bit of a show opening the door to the shop, not wanting to startle Crowley, wanting to let him respond as he would, but definitely hoping the demon would relax and laugh at being so caught. 

By the time he closed the door behind himself and toddled off down the street in search of his tea towel, Crowley was gone. Aziraphale was quite disappointed and a touch hurt. What was he not being trusted with?   
  


He picked up the tea towel and returned to the shop. He stood by the stained glass panel that ran next to the door and held the tea towel up to study, keeping a side eye trained on the bench outside for a clue. He was rewarded for his suspicion as Crowley’s lanky arm and leg wrapped over the back of the bench, then the rest of him as he pulled himself from his hiding spot behind the wood to return to sit.

Aziraphale made a point of flapping the tea towel once or twice, then strolled further into the shop. He wanted to keep an eye on Crowley but this would stain, so he put it in the sink to soak a while, then returned to the door. Crowley was gone.

Aziraphale rushed out of the shop recklessly, bee lining for the bench Crowley had been taking. He sniffed and the faint, familiar, and endearing smell of evil, brimstone, and Burberry perfume still lingered. But there was no Crowley.    
  


He came by later that day, however. And Aziraphale noticed all the things he had last time. He kept his glasses on, incidental touches occurred more often, and he spoke less. 

“It’s been a little while since I saw you, sleeping again?” Aziraphale asked impolitely after an hour of building exasperation. 

“Mmm,” Crowley agreed.

“Do you sleep well?”

Crowley frowned. “Sure.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to discuss this, but he wasn’t interested in dropping it yet. He closed the book he’d been browsing through and looked at Crowley purposefully. “Humans generally only sleep at night, you’re often gone for days. You sleep the whole time?”

Crowley fiddled with his pant seam uncomfortably. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “you know, ideally.”

“Ideally?” Aziraphale pounced. “Not always?”   
  


Crowley looked so entirely unwilling to discuss this. He hummed in agreement, glanced at Aziraphale sadly, then looked away again. “Wake up a bit sometimes,” he admitted. Aziraphale began to feel very sorry for him. “I usually fall back asleep after a bit, though.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said with much more gentleness. Crowley’s raised, defensive shoulders relaxed at his changed tone. “That must be irritating, to be so interrupted. I hope-” he paused, wondering if he was over stepping far too much. Crowley looked at him and the small smile on his mouth encouraged Aziraphale. “I hope if there’s anything I could do, you would let me know. To help, I mean. If there’s anything.”

Crowley exhaled sharply, then shut his mouth tight. And he stared, he just stared at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale began to feel silly again, he grew embarrassed and returned his attention to his book, feeling very warm in his cheeks. 


	2. Chapter 2

They were in the park seven weeks later, disagreeing on the concept of tongues that have teeth. Crowley insisted ducks had them, but Aziraphale knew that was absurd and no creature would. They were getting dangerously close to trying to catch a duck to check when Crowley interrupted his struggling splutter with a yawn.

A brief concerned exchanged confirmed that Crowley was tired and interested in heading home for a nap. Aziraphale, however, had had an idea in the intervening weeks and was pleased to have a chance to put it into action. He insisted Crowley give him a lift home by suggesting that he could walk home himself if Crowley wished to be right off and was treated to absolute indignation as Crowley rather pointedly held the passenger door open for him. 

They pulled up at the bookshop and Aziraphale played a careful game. 

“Would you step out for a moment, my dear?” He asked gently. Crowley frowned, tipped his glasses down his nose to study Aziraphale in confusion for a moment, but ultimately agreed as Aziraphale knew he would and stepped out. 

“What?”

“I thought,” Aziraphale said warily, aware this could be wrong. But perhaps it would allow Crowley a full nights rest at last, or a full days and nights rest. Nip it in the bud, as it were. “We could sit together a moment, just another moment.” He indicated the bench that faced the shop. 

Crowley followed his gaze and stayed perfectly in the position he had taken, arms crossed on the roof of the Bentley as he leaned towards Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale clasped his hands together bravely and strolled with all the casual atmosphere he could muster. Crowley didn’t want to discuss it, but he could try and help regardless. He sat on the bench and looked at Crowley, waiting politely to see what he would do.

Crowley shook his head once, quickly, not in a no, just a reset, a shake. The he pushed off from the car, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked to Aziraphale’s side. He stood at the edge of the bench, looking down uncomfortably. “Bit weird to not jus’ go inside,” he muttered.

Aziraphale completely agreed, that was rather the point. “Well, yes,” he admitted, then he wasn’t sure how to finish, so he just stopped saying anything. He waited.

Crowley kicked the bench leg lightly, not moving to sit. 

“You’ve seen me,” he muttered sourly, miserably.

“Well,” Aziraphale repeated. “Yes.”

Crowley grimaced, a stroke of true sadness ripping through him for a moment before he clenched his jaw and settled into a more simple regret. “Why’re you doing this?”

Aziraphale’s hands began to shake, he had made a mistake. He felt unforgivable, but reminded himself quickly that Crowley forgave, Crowley always forgave him, this wasn’t too much, he’d meant it well, Crowley  _ forgave.  _

“I- I thought that maybe if you got this part out of the way first it might help you sleep better,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I didn’t mean to- if you don’t want to you don’t have to, of course, I just- I won’t-” he stood up, feeling horrible by how Crowley skittered when he did. “I won’t mention it again,” he promised.  _ Forgive me. _

Crowley glanced around the street in uncomfortable distress. “Um,” he said. “How many times have you seen me?” 

“Four,” Aziraphale whispered. 

Crowley nodded, still not looking at Aziraphale. 

“How many- how many times have you been here?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley chewed his lip for a second before muttering, “six.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale said as gently as he could, which was very gentle indeed. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, they skittered across his belly, looking for somewhere normal to rest. He had done so wrong, he had to make it right, there had to be a way to make it right. Forgive me. “Crowley, you- you’re welcome to come inside, if you wish. Or I can come and sit here with you, if that’ll… are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley muttered quietly, “yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Would you like to come in now?” Aziraphale offered quietly, trying anything. “You could sleep in the shop?”

Crowley looked at the shop, then at Aziraphale and Aziraphale could see how wide his eyes were behind his glasses. He shook his head, and this time he clearly meant no. 

Aziraphale could tell this conversation was nearly at an end. “Crowley,” he sighed and Crowley looked at him, fear and longing warring in his eyes. “Crowley, I don’t wish to keep you from your rest, but I’m- I’m sorry, this was clumsy.” Aziraphale felt close to crying, but that would be unfair if course. He had made the mistake, not Crowley, he wouldn't cry now.

Crowley exhaled softly, gazing sadly. “It’s- no, it’s- you’re good, angel,” he said. He stepped close to Aziraphale and took his hand. 

Aziraphale froze, he hadn’t expected this, he hadn’t expected contact. His heart sped up and he his panic forgot to keep spiraling as he focused on what Crowley was doing.

Crowley lifted his hand, turning it gently and kissed the back of his knuckles, taking his breath away. Crowley let out a ragged breath and Aziraphale nearly fainted from the feeling of it on his knuckles. “You’re too good, angel,” Crowley muttered. 

Then he pinched his eyes shut and dropped Aziraphale’s hand, stepping back all at once. Aziraphale couldn’t move, he was so blown away. Crowley ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m gonna go, I’ll see you when I wake. Few days.” And he left. 

Aziraphale stood there for another fifteen minutes before mindlessly walking back into his shop. He was in such a tizz he sold a book the next day. 

It was five days before he saw Crowley again. He hadn’t calmed down until the third day, and really he hadn’t calmed then, more his enraptured memory of that kiss was overtaken by worry at the ongoing absence. Three days was normal, he was concerned. Four days was odd, he fidgeted and worried and overthought. Five days had Aziraphale standing in the window doing nothing but watching the street and overthinking.

Crowley walked down the street under the cover of night. He dodged the lightest parts of the street, stepping around the main glow of street lamps. The lamp above the bench flickered and went dark before he arrived and sat. Aziraphale watched as Crowley shifted in the seat a few times before stilling and turning his attention to the bookshop. At that moment, with Crowley’s eyes on him, Aziraphale moved. 

He opened the door to the shop, made complete eye contact with Crowley, and retreated into the shop, leaving the door open. Crowley could come in or not, but Aziraphale refused to pretend he hadn’t seen his friend.

Five minutes passed during which Aziraphale picked up a book, sat on the two seater, and ignored how cold the breeze entering his shop was. 

Crowley walked in at last, silently. Aziraphale startled a little when he rounded the shelf and faced him. Crowley didn’t speak, he didn’t smile, nothing. There were enormous, dark bags under his eyes. He stalked forwards slowly, then sat next to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale was more than a little lost, and decided to follow his direction. So he sat quietly and read. He couldn’t have told you what he was reading, but he looked at the words and turned the pages and all those sorts of things.    


An hour passed in silence, then without warning Crowley yawned, stood, and left. 

Aziraphale let him go without interference. 

He returned two days later looking far better rested. Aziraphale kindly said nothing about the whole thing and the slightly distant atmosphere that had become the norm after Crowley’s sleeps faded faster than before. 

A month later and again it happened. This time Crowley knocked on the door himself, waiting for Aziraphale to open. Aziraphale had honestly assumed it was a hopeful customer and had prepared a sorry refusal, but Crowley’s exhausted body met him instead and so he opened the door completely and ushered him inside. 

They sat on the couch again, Aziraphale not reading as Crowley watched him silently. Aziraphale stood after twenty minutes to get himself some tea, he was determined that this not be horrible if it were to continue so. He put his tea together and turned and nearly dropped the whole lot as Crowley stood in the door to the kitchen, watching him hungrily. It was somewhat unnerving, truth be told.

They returned to the couch and Crowley leant on him, resting quite a bit of weight against Aziraphale’s arm. Aziraphale considered it for nearly ten minutes, then slowly shifted and wrapped his arm around Crowley’s shoulders, pulling him close. Crowley tensed, then relaxed and leaned on him. 

Aziraphale wished he knew what Crowley needing comforting for, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. There was no reason that would have Aziraphale withdrawing his given comfort, so if Crowley wanted it without question, that is how he would give it. He still wished he could know. 

An hour and a half passed rapturously with Crowley in his arm, pressed against his side, breathing gently. Then Crowley yawned and Aziraphale, recognising the change, relaxed his grip on Crowley’s shoulders. Crowley sat back, letting Aziraphale’s arm drop from him. Aziraphale expected Crowley to leave silently again, but he was surprised.

“Um, I’m gettin’ tired, I’m gonna get on home,” he muttered, looking at his feet. 

“Of course,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’ll see you shortly.”

Crowley stood, but glanced back before he left, a small smile playing on his lips. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but didn’t. Then he left. 

He was entirely himself when he returned a few days later, laughing the moment he arrived and complaining about the new traffic lights down the street. Just himself.

Two weeks later again. It was mid afternoon when Crowley showed up, on a rare day when the bookshop was open and unfortunately had a few customers in it already. Aziraphale took one look at Crowley’s cold (scared?) expression and began trying to hurry the three customers out of his shop.

“Oh dear, um, a gas leak, yes, very unsafe- unsanitary, even, and unsafe, and you must all leave at once, thank you. No, I’ve no idea when I’ll reopen, it’s a gas leak sir, please get out.”

Aziraphale closed the door, locked it, and turned the sign to closed. He spun to face Crowley and nearly tripped over his feet when he found him standing directly before him. Then, without a word, Crowley crowded him, stepping right up and pressing to his chest, his head tucked to avoid meeting his eyes. 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to respond and spent a moment frozen, cataloguing each of the eight places their bodies were touching. One of his feet knocked Crowley’s, and that same knee brushed his. The back of Crowley’s hand rested on Aziraphale’s’ upper thigh and his belly pressed firmly against Aziraphale’s. Crowley’s other hand had raised and his finger hovered on Aziraphale’s waist. The inside of Aziraphale’s arm touched the back of that hand. And Crowley’s dipped head nuzzled into his shoulder, his hair tickling Aziraphale’s neck and jaw. 

Aziraphale felt each of these touches in their entirety, then he raised his arms and pulled Crowley into a hug, and they were now touching a hundred different ways or just the one. 

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, clutching the fabric of his vest tightly, and held him. They stood unbreathing for only ten minutes before Crowley let out a shuddering breath and what surely couldn’t be a sob. 

Crowley let go, stepping back hurriedly from Aziraphale. He ran a hand through his hair, then another, then both as his distress didn’t fade. His glasses were on but Aziraphale fancied he saw tears in his eyes and his heart quickly broke.

Aziraphale took a step towards him. “Crowley-” he croaked. 

Crowley looked at him in alarm and unmistakable fear. Then, “sorry,” he muttered, and he danced around Aziraphale and fled the shop. 

Aziraphale felt like swearing, but he restrained himself.


	3. Chapter 3

He waited an entire 24 hours (which he thought was very respectable) before calling Crowley in not inconsiderable distress.

“Ssshar. Ng,” came incomprehensibly down the line after a long four rings.

“I’m- I’m sorry, I’m sure I’ve woken you,” Aziraphale said. He twisted the phone cord between his fingers. 

There was a huff of air then a muffled thump. “Thas okay,” Crowley said groggily. 

“Look, you- I-” Aziraphale lost his words for a moment, so he shut his eyes and tried very hard to remember them. 

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Crowley said into the silence. “I shouldn’t’ve come by- what day is it?”

“You were here yesterday,” Aziraphale said. 

“Yesterday,” Crowley repeated. “I should’t’ve done that, that was- the physical- we don’t do that and I shouldn’t’ve.”

“No, that’s-” Aziraphale said, “that’s not what I’m- not exactly what I’m calling about, dear, it’s-”

“It was rude,” Crowley interrupted, “and presumptuous and not how I want to-”

“No,” Aziraphale interrupted, turning on the spot as he held the phone closely to his face. The cord lengthened miraculously as he spun. “That’s not my point at all. Please let me talk.” He waited and Crowley remained silent. “I would like to see you,” Aziraphale said, his eyes closed so that he could pretend this wasn’t entirely real. “Would you come over?”

“Are you sure?” Crowley asked quietly.

Aziraphale gripped the phone tighter, he had been panicked earlier and it hadn't calmed it had simply morphed into a slippery, cruel desperation. “Yes, I don’t understand what’s wrong and I feel like all I’m doing is making mistakes and, Crowley, I can really mess up when I’m left to my own devices, it’s all I really do, and I don’t like the kind of repercussions that I may earn here-” he stopped, the loud sounds of movement on the other end of the line interrupting his ramble. He blushed hard, hating the moment.

“You’re upset,” Crowley said.

“I’m not upset,” Aziraphale lied. “I’m letting you down and I don’t want to, dear.”

“I’ll be right over,” Crowley said, then paused to wait for a response which Aziraphale did not give. He hung up and Aziraphale stared sadly at the phone for a moment, noting the new crack in it from his tight grip, before placing it back in the cradle. 

Aziraphale’s hands nervously fluttered up and down his vest as he waited for Crowley. Crowley would fix it, he thought wildly, when Aziraphale convinced him that he couldn’t then Crowley would, he always did.

The door opened and closed quickly. Aziraphale turned and Crowley stood there. 

“Shit,” Crowley hissed when he saw him and Aziraphale wondered with a surging return of panic what Crowley had misunderstood. 

Crowley rushed to him, but did not touch him. “I’m sorry, angel, I am,” he said gently, like he was talking to a wounded animal.

“No, dear, no,” Aziraphale muttered. His hands didn’t still but began to flutter across Crowley’s arms as well as his own. “I just- you’re trusting me too much, I will- I will screw it up if you do,” he said. 

Crowley reeled slightly at his light swearing and for a moment he looked as if he might laugh, but he shook his head tightly and returned to the moment. “Okay,” he agreed seriously, gently, “too much, got it, I won’t- I won’t put it on you again.”

“No,  _ Crowley! _ ” Aziraphale said in exasperation. Aziraphale grabbed his arms, holding tight, meeting his eyes with so much love it could be mistaken as fury. Crowley’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “I will give you whatever you want, just don’t make me guess what that is because I will ruin it!”

“What are you talking about?” Crowley breathed.

Aziraphale nearly laughed. He thought about all the good things he’d messed up in his long life, the moment he was given an inch of freedom to choose his fate he seemed to choose wrong. He remembered sitting, pleased as punch in an empty inn as Mary was forced to give birth in a barn due to his inattention. He remembered strolling confidently into a church, only to be outwitted and need help so badly. He remembered Crowley’s near beg to leave and choosing against, siding with Heaven, the misery and shame and heartbreak that he caused himself and Crowley with that decision. 

“Will you explain what’s going on?” Aziraphale eventually asked.

“Sure, yeah, alright,” Crowley agreed. “If you- yeah, whatever you want.” Crowley’s fingers twitched but he did not reach out to touch Aziraphale.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he led or if he was led to the couch, but they wound up there nonetheless. He couldn’t bring himself to stop touching Crowley, not just yet, so they held hands, like they had on the bus home nearly a year ago, and Crowley let him. They sat and Crowley took a breath to speak. 

“I've been- I've been having nightmares, is all,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale waited for the rest, but Crowley just looked at him with soft worry. “That's all?” Aziraphale prodded. 

Crowley smiled. “Yeah, I'm just overreacting, see? It's nothing to actually worry about, I'm sorry you were.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “That can’t- that's not all, Crowley.” He knew there was more, there simply had to be. Nightmares were bad, yes, but they didn’t lead to hours of silent staring. 

Crowley’s mouth moved ridiculously, like a lost fish. “It's- I-”

Aziraphale waited.

“Sometimes-” Crowley said. He glanced around the shop, as if they were confirming they were alone. “Most of the time it's just a nightmare, but sometimes it doesn't really fade,” he muttered. He looked at their joined hands, then quietly pulled his away. Aziraphale let him, although it hurt. 

“I wake up and I feel like it's actually happened but I know it hasn't because you-” Crowley looked at him at last, worried, scared. “I can feel you,” Crowley whispered, “when you're in the world, I can feel it, so I know. But then I start thinking, well, it's going to happen, you know? In five minutes or an hour or whatever. And when that doesn't fade, I just, well, I come here so I can see that nothing's happened yet and I- I wait. Until the foreboding or whatever goes away.” He shrugged miserably. “Couple hours, usually.”

“What are you dreaming?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley tipped his head forwards and peered over the top of his glasses at Aziraphale, his eyes bright and gleaming. 

“I never said?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “No,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

Aziraphale frowned. “You don’t want to say it?”

“No, no, I just thought I already had,” Crowley dodged. 

Aziraphale gave him a beat to say it, but he didn’t. He tipped his head expectantly. 

“Well, I mean sometimes it’s creative but mostly it’s just the fire,” Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale nodded. Of course. “It must’ve been traumatic, driving through that,’ he said gently. 

Crowley’s eyes flashed to his, surprised, a little amused. “No, here,” he said. “The bookshop. You.”

A few things settled into place for Aziraphale, and they settled somewhat warmly.

“Oh.”

So Crowley slept in the shop now. Not on a couch, which had been Aziraphale’s first suggestion (Crowley had kindly, or had it been sarcastically? pointed out that he slept for days at a time and he wouldn't want to keep Aziraphale from opening the shop as he wished) but instead upstairs in what had until very recently been an empty room with a few favoured items of clothes from history kept safe. It now contained a large, ornate bed that they'd chosen together (not from Ikea, Crowley had insisted) and built together and grown tired of building together and miracles into completion together.

Aziraphale had enjoyed joining Crowley in the hunt for furnishings and bedding. Aziraphale had expected some outrageously expensive - so pricely they were in fact lower in quality for it which seemed to be the case now - bed sheets, but Crowley had blushed rather beautifully and chosen a still not cheap but not offensively priced set of soft, fleece sheets. 

There had been a brief squabble over the colour, of course, but a compromise was reached with dark charcoal sheets under a pale patterned duvet that was never allowed to be tartan. 

Aziraphale had found it distracting the first time Crowley had slept up there, but ultimately comforting to have him close. He kept a close eye on the sleeping demon, the sight difficult to maintain through the walls but he invoked one of his more observant eyes and while it wasn't the clearest image, he could easily watch from the shop floor as Crowley slept above him. It was similar to watching a person through an aquarium, some of what he understood from the sight was contextual, some was actually what he could see, all of it was slightly mangled by usually opaque walls.

Regardless, Crowley slept soundly, still, and quiet. Until he didn't.

Aziraphale was really doing nothing, he was walking about the shop, moving things from one place then returning them. He watched Crowley closely, popping up a few times to check that he was understanding the interfered sight correctly. 

Crowley rolled over and Aziraphale wondered if he was waking. It was a short nap if so, just the afternoon, but it was a new bed so perhaps. He stood and watched. Crowley rolled again, then hitched the duvet up to his chin.

Aziraphale decided to check on him. If he was waking he could offer a coffee, and if he wasn't, well, he wouldn't know. 

The door opened silently because of course it did and Aziraphale peered into the room. Crowley was breathing more loudly than he had the last times Aziraphale had checked, his breaths were short and clipped and irregular. Aziraphale stepped in carefully, closing the door behind him without letting it shut. 

Crowley whimpered quietly and Aziraphale forgot all decorum. He rushed to the bed, bending over the sheets and touched the back of Crowley's hand gently. "Dear?" He whispered.

Crowley didn't react, his eyes were shut and Aziraphale was quite confident he was asleep still. He'd never seen a nightmare before. He wasn't sure what to do. He vaguely remembered that you weren't meant to wake people when they dreamt. Or was it when they walked? Well, walking people must be awake so that memory had to be about people dreaming. 

Crowley gasped and his shoulders tensed up, then he slowly relaxed, his breath calming. His hand was still curled tightly around the bed sheet.

"Okay," Aziraphale muttered to himself, trying to think of something to do. Perhaps he should've expected this, but he hadn't. He'd thought being here would be enough to keep the dreams at bay. 

He felt very useless.

Crowley opened his mouth and made a quiet, deep keening sound that crackled from how near silent it was. Then he rolled over to lay on his front, the hand Aziraphale had touched resting on the back of his neck lazily. Crowley keened again, the sound pained.

Aziraphale gave up the goat and sat on the edge of the bed, not roughly but not with much care. If he woke Crowley like this so be it, but it wasn't his intention. He took Crowley's hand gently, having to pull his fingers individually out of his hair to do so. "You're okay, Crowley," he whispered as he did. He held Crowley's hand in both of his. 

Crowley stiffened as his arm was moved, then, tonelessly, muttered, "can't find."

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what that meant, he had a feeling it was only some of a sentence. He responded regardless. “You’ll find your way, darling, it’s okay.”

Crowley relaxed slowly over the next ten minutes. His calm was occasionally interrupted by a stiffening of his muscles or a small whimper, but he did calm. Aziraphale sat quietly for another thirty minutes before deciding that Crowley’s even breaths indicated a deep sleep had returned. He left Crowley’s hand on the pillow and gingerly climbed out of the bed. After all, Crowley had been asleep for barely four hours and Azirpahale had little interest in sitting in bed for a day and a half, although he could imagine worse things. He would keep an eye on Crowley and if the interruption to his rest returned, so would Aziraphale. 

Crowley slept well for a day. Aziraphale discovered he could still see him from the bakery across the street and down two, so after a tentative walk with a focused eye on the sleeping demon he enjoyed a generous breakfast platter and a chai latte in the late morning. 

Crowley’s nightmare returned as the second day of his sleeping began to close. Aziraphale had been eyeing a bottle of white wine in consideration for half an hour now, and had finally decided that perhaps he would wait for tomorrow in the hopes that Crowley would be up by then when his trained eye noticed movement.

Aziraphale put his book down and stood quickly, bee lining for Crowley without a second thought. “Crowley?” He asked softly as he opened the door to the room, just in case Crowley was awake now. Crowley didn’t respond, so Aziraphale walked in and found him on his side, curled into a ball, sheets tangled around him in a tight, complicated manner. “Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed.

He sat on the bed again, watching Crowley closely. He was tense, every muscle taught, and he shivered from fear or exertion. Aziraphale again wasn’t sure what to do. He touched Crowley’s wrist, pressing his fingers gently against the dip, and hoped he would calm like before. He could feel Crowley’s fast heartbeat, the small, steady shiver of his muscles, the slightest skim of cold sweat, and Crowley did not calm. 

Crowley let out a breath quickly, then drew it in again and held. Then again, quick, intermittent pants. “My best,” Crowley muttered into the pillow.

“You are,” Aziraphale said, feeling very useless.

Crowley’s shoulders hunched and he curled in on himself more, moving slightly towards Aziraphale. “Friend,” he whimpered.

Aziraphale swung his legs onto the bed and gave himself an extra couple of pillows to lean against. Crowley fell into the heavier dip of the mattress, his elbow pressing into Aziraphale’s thigh somewhat uncomfortably. 

Aziraphale set to work untangling the sheet from Crowley’s body, the constriction couldn't be comfortable. As he did Crowley didn’t relax exactly, but he began to respond to Aziraphale’s presence. His head tipped to lean on Aziraphale’s hip and one of his hands crawled under Aziraphale’s leg and clenched the fabric of his pants below his knee tightly. Aziraphale sighed at the thought of having to iron that out later, but accepted the penance. 

It took ten minutes of dedicated, delicate work, but Crowley was finally free of the charcoal sheet. Aziraphale picked the whole thing up and, using considerable muscle to ensure he didn’t sway the bed or tense his legs, he flung it out so that it floated flat and soft down over Crowley’s body. 

He wrapped one arm around Crowley’s shoulders and held the still shivering demon gently. Minutes passed and Aziraphale miracled his book into his hands, returning to reading one handed as his other steadily rubbed what he hoped was a calming pattern onto Crowley’s shoulder blade.

He worked very hard to not enjoy the physical nearness of it all. He would have to talk to Crowley shortly and get permission for this in the future, but he simply couldn’t leave now, not when the demon’s breath still occasionally caught in his throat and his shaking hadn’t subsided. He hoped Crowley would see it as an act of love, not invasiveness. 

Crowley’s breathing grew ragged. His fist tightened in Aziraphale’s pant leg and he pressed his head into the side of Aziraphale’s thigh hard. He breathed quick, the occasional whimper breaking through. Aziraphale stopped reading and looked down at Crowley, watching him for any sign or clue for what to do. 

“Where  _ are you, _ ” Crowley keened quietly. 

Aziraphale fished desperately for a way to respond to that, but couldn’t find one that didn’t feel incredibly presumptuous, or totally irrelevant. So he just sighed and rubbed Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley gasped, then gasped a few more times in quick succession, not breathing out between, then his eyes flashed open. His gaze roamed quickly, his eyes darting as he breathed heavily and looked about. They were full yellow, and his pupils were wide in fear. 

  
He met Aziraphale’s eyes and they froze for a moment, with Crowley still wrapped around Aziraphale’s leg, Aziraphale’s arm still over his shoulders, and Crowley stopped shaking.

Then Crowley flung himself backwards, skittering to the far end of the bed and Aziraphale’s heart dropped into the teacup he’d left downstairs.

Crowley stared at him, half sitting, sheet falling as he stilled, and breathed. “You're in my bed,” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale swallowed. “I hope you don't mind,” he said weakly. Crowley clearly minded. 

“No, I don't- I don't mind,” Crowley said, not convincing Aziraphale at all. “I just. Didn't expect it.”

“You were having a nightmare,” Aziraphale explained. Crowley let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes began to glisten. Aziraphale realised, cowardly, he was somewhat relieved Crowley had worn his glasses after his nightmares in the past because the fear and heart wrenching sorrow in his eyes now took Aziraphale’s breath away. “And I didn’t- I couldn’t just leave you alone while you were- would you prefer if I just let you be in future?”

Crowley was staring at the sheet that Aziraphale had thrown over him. He was still for a moment, then shook his head weakly. He didn’t say anything else for some time, but Aziraphale waited, feeling rather lousy. 

Crowley looked up and watched him. Aziraphale recognised some of the hunger he had portrayed when he’d come by after a nightmare in the past. 

“Yeah, I was,” Crowley breathed. “Are you- ?”

“What, dear?”

“Um.” Crowley looked down again. He flexed his hand that had held Aziraphale’s pants so tightly. “Sorry about the clutching thing.”

“I don’t mind one bit, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, which apart from the ironing down the road was entirely true. “If being held is something you like, well, I relish the opportunity.”

Crowley swayed like he was recovering from being hit. “Opportunity?” He repeated.

Aziraphale began to move, getting out of the bed quickly. He faced away from Crowley as much as he could manage without being suspicious so as to hide his quickly forming blush. “I shall let you wake up without interference,” he explained. “There’s a nice bottle of sauvignon blanc I’ve been considering opening, you’d be welcome to join me,” he said as he hurried out of the room. 

Crowley did join him for the wine and they both politely didn’t discuss anything difficult.


	4. Chapter 4

A month passed before Crowley grew tired again. He didn’t say anything, but after an afternoon of interrupting himself with yawns Aziraphale grew exasperated and suggested he head upstairs for a nap. An interaction occurred that was so fleeting that you could blink and miss it, but Aziraphale noticed it indeed, he was meant to, and it stayed on the forefront of his mind for every second Crowley slept.

“Stop disagreeing, you’ve been yawning all afternoon. It’s as clear as day, just go,” Aziraphale said with perhaps more bite in his tone than necessary. The memory of when Crowley woke last time still made him stress.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Crowley said languidly. He yawned again and Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Well, I’ll be back when I’m back.” Crowley stood and paused at the base of the stairs. He looked back at Aziraphale gently for a moment, then said, “feel free to join me,” and hurried up the stairs and out of sight. 

So Aziraphale spent a day mulling those words over in his head.  _ Feel free to join me. _ He hadn’t meant to invite Aziraphale carte blanche, surely not. Aziraphale wanted to simply walk upstairs, take his outer layers off for comfort, and lay next to Crowley for days. But that hadn't been the spirit of it, he had meant if he had a nightmare, Aziraphale could join like he had. Surely that had been what he meant. Surely. 

Luckily for Aziraphale’s spiraling mind and poor decision making, but unluckily for Crowley’s good sleep, Crowley had a nightmare the next night. Aziraphale moved quickly again, although this time with some humility. Aziraphale stood in the doorway muttering Crowley’s name quietly to check he was asleep before stepping in. 

Crowley lay on his side again, sheet off his body and clutched in his hands, wrapped tightly around his arms. His breathing was slow, but occasionally choked by a near-sob. 

Aziraphale sat on the bed, swinging his legs on to stretch out next to Crowley from the start. He began to work the sheet out of his arms, letting himself be a bit rougher than he had last time as he didn’t fear startling Crowley so badly if he woke. 

After a few more sobs that broke Aziraphale's heart, the sheet was free. He flung it over the both of them and scooted down to lay next to Crowley. He placed his hand on top of both of Crowley’s and held him loosely, giving him the freedom to move wherever he would in his sleep. 

“You’ve gone,” Crowley whispered in croak and, terrifyingly, a tear slid down his face. 

It still felt presumptuous, but Aziraphale couldn’t think of anyone else Crowley may be referring to. “I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispered. 

“Bastards.”

“Okay now,” Aziraphale said, ridiculously admonishing him. 

Crowley rolled onto his front, his shoulder pressing against Aziraphale’s chest. “Bastards,” he repeated into his pillow. 

Aziraphale remained holding him long after he felt he needed to. He discovered something new, he discovered that Crowley chased contact. Crowley calmed and began to sleep normally, his breathing even and his body relaxed. After thirty minutes of this, long after Aziraphale had previously excused himself, Crowley shifted again and pressed more solidly against Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale furiously reminded himself that Crowley was a snake and was doubtlessly chasing heat and that he couldn’t and shouldn’t read anything more into how entirely Crowley rested his body against him. If Aziraphale were a less lonely man he would have left, but Crowley had rolled onto one of his arms, pinning him to the bed, so he found the excuse to stay. 

Hours passed and Aziraphale did not sleep, he did not get tired, but his mind did wander. As he daydreamed he wrapped himself more against Crowley, absentmindedly seeking out the touch of him. They lay, Crowley’s back pressed to Aziraphale’s front, for the rest of the night. 

Crowley finally began to stir, pulling Aziraphale out of his fond rememberings and back to the current world with some alarm. He realised too late and as he began to extricate himself he knew Crowley would have already felt how entangled they'd ended up. 

He pulled his leg back from between Crowley’s, but as he tried to remove his arm Crowley held on to him. 

“I’m-” Aziraphale gasped. “Oh, I’m-”

Crowley laughed breathily. “You sure don't half ass it, do ya?” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale tried a bit harder to pull his arm out of Crowley’s grasp and finally succeeded. “I do apologise, I hadn't realised how close we'd gotten,” Aziraphale said. He rolled onto his back to move away from Crowley.

Crowley followed him, his shoulder resting on top of Aziraphale’s chest. He stretched an arm out, knocking Aziraphale in the chin gently. He hummed luxuriously. “‘sa nice way to wake up,” he said groggily. 

That surprised him. “Well that’s-” he paused. “That's good,” he finally said, relaxing under the steady weight of Crowley on his arm. 

“Did I even have a nightmare or are ya just takin’ advantage of me in my vulnerable state?” Crowley asked with a laugh.

Aziraphale’s heart rate picked up a little. “Oh dear, my intention was not to-”

“I’m jus' teasin',” Crowley interrupted.

“Well, don't.”

Crowley laughed loudly, and Aziraphale would have been offended except he did actually stop his teasing. He sat up and turned, returning to rest his forearms on Aziraphale’s chest, looking at him fondly. Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat for a second, but he forced his body back to normality. 

“And you did have a nightmare, since you asked,” Aziraphale said.

“Did I?” Crowley grinned widely. “It hasn't hung around.” 

Aziraphale shifted back and pulled a pillow into being under his head. “I'm pleased to hear it,” he said, as normally as he could as Crowley tipped his head, one long strand falling across his face. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “You called someone a bastard, I do hope it wasn’t me?”

Crowley exhaled a silent laugh. “Ah no, no,” he muttered. “Everyone else, in fact.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale agreed, like that really cleared anything up. 

Crowley smiled at him for a few more seconds, then pulled himself away. He sat back on his heels and looked about for a tick before clambouring out of the bed and stretching. Aziraphale watched fondly as he messed his hair up, then clicked his fingers so it sat perfectly.

Crowley went to the window and glanced out at the day beyond. “You don't need an excuse, you know?” He said as he looked away. 

“Hmm?” Aziraphale asked. 

“To join me.” He turned and faced Aziraphale. His nervousness was tangible. “We've needed excuses long enough, we don't now,” he said. 

Aziraphale nodded. “I'll see how I go,” he said.

Crowley smiled and cocked his head to the side. “Bit of a change of pace,” he admitted. 

“Rather.”

So that's what began to happen. It was slightly uncomfortable for Aziraphale at first, but it got easier each time. He worried and ummed and ahhed the first time, but ultimately climbed into bed with Crowley and enjoyed a book with one arm around him. Crowley's wide grin when he'd woken to find Aziraphale comfortable by his side had dissuaded his doubts. 

It became something Aziraphale quite looked forward to. Crowley would announce he was off for a nap and Aziraphale would spend a day alone, tidying the shop or checking his taxes or cleaning his feathers, things he didn't want to bother Crowley with. Then he grew a bit lonely, so he picked up a book and sat next to the sleeping demon. 

Crowley now, in his rest, seemed more responsive to Aziraphale. As if his unconscious mind had begun to know his presence. He rolled his way onto Aziraphale's lap quicker each time, especially as Aziraphale usually joined him when he wasn't having a nightmare, and rested bodily on him. 

His nightmares still came, but more often than not Aziraphale was already well placed to respond. Mutters of "you're gone," and "kill," no longer caused him too much worry and he simply put his book aside and responded best he could to the small snippets of conversation he was given and stroked the demon calmly through it. Crowley relaxed faster, not waking himself with his panicked memory anymore, and returned to his slumber. 

When Crowley did wake it was in a better humour, and usually more talkative and honest than Aziraphale found him at other times of the day. A freshly woken Crowley was swiftly becoming one of his favourite things, even if he did occasionally ask difficult questions or point out vulnerable matters Aziraphale wouldn't have volunteered himself. 

"What would you like to do today?” Crowley muttered into Aziraphale’s stomach.

Aziraphale smiled, he hadn’t even noticed the demon stir. “I’ve noticed some posters for a reimagining of Hamlet around town,” he said mildly. 

Crowley groaned. “That old chestnut.”

Aziraphale reached across to the bedside table he'd got himself and put his book down.“Yes, it's still going strong!” He said gratefully. 

Crowley curled his legs in and sat, leaning bodily against Aziraphale’s side. He muttered a few words under his breath that Aziraphale simply couldn’t make out. “I'd regret it if it weren't for you,” he said as Aziraphale settled back into place. 

“Truly?”

“Yeah, it's a boring play, angel.”

Aziraphale hummed in disagreement. “You didn't have to save it,” he pointed out. 

Crowley slithered down. Aziraphale raised his arm somewhat ridiculously as he waited for Crowley to find a spot he was happy with. He finally settled, his head in Aziraphale’s lap as his legs spurled wildly out across the bed. Aziraphale wrapped his arm around him warmly. “I did,” he muttered against Aziraphale’s thigh. Aziraphale briefly entertained quite the hedonist thought, but scrubbed it from his mind after a moment. “D'you know what you look like when I give you things?” Crowley continued, “I must be the most whipped creature on the planet.”

Aziraphale was not familiar with that term, it must be a modern slang. “Whipped?”

“Aah,” Crowley said with half a laugh. Aziraphale let him think, it took him longer than definitions usually took him, but he had just woken. “Easily manipulated,” Crowley said eventually. 

Aziraphale bristled. “Well,” he snapped very properly. “You needn’t come see it with me.”

“No, no, I'll come,” Crowley said quickly. He turned so he could look at Aziraphale, gazing up from his lap. “I’ll come, and what’s more I’ll enjoy it,” he said with a challenge in his voice.

Aziraphale smiled widely. He felt an awful lot like kissing him, but that would be in bad form.

Crowley smiled lazily back at him. “See,” he said, waggling a finger at him. “That there is why I like to give you things.” He yawned. “Are we in a rush for this play or can I sleep another minute?”

Aziraphale moved a few long strands of hair out of Crowley’s face and rested his hand in Crowley’s hair gently. “We've many hours yet, take your rest.”

Crowley shut his eyes and turned away from Aziraphale, going limp against him. “Y’re so pretty,” he muttered before falling asleep again. 

Unfortunately Aziraphale found himself often filled with a nearly overwhelming desire to kiss Crowley now. It had always been something of a simmering impulse, but it had grown worse and was at its most potent at moments like these when Crowley was touching him and smiling and saying something lovely. 

Aziraphale had to remind himself that it was still utterly inappropriate and really so presumptuous as to be disrespectful to even entertain the thoughts. Crowley was a demon, and what’s more he didn’t keep secrets. He was vocal about his thoughts and desires, he always had been. He'd spoken against God's cruelty before Aziraphale had even considered trying sweet breads. He'd been performing small kindnesses and doling out free will for eons before Aziraphale had acknowledged that perhaps the Arrangement was a reasonable plan after all. If Crowley wanted more from Aziraphale, he would have mentioned it by now. 

It had been Aziraphale holding them back for so long now, and Crowley pulling them forwards. Aziraphale couldn't imagine that Crowley may have left anything of worth unspoken. 

And so it continued. 

"Why do you like this?" Crowley murmured one early morning. It was about two in the morning, although neither of them cared. Crowley was ready to wake and Aziraphale was pleased. 

"What’s that?" Aziraphale asked. He had gotten bored of his book earlier than usual this night and had ended up wrapped around Crowley again, spooning gently as the demon slept. He'd woken a moment ago and had not stretched as he usually did, instead he'd simply scuttled closer to Aziraphale's warmth. 

"This- this-" Crowley stammered. Aziraphale had a hand on Crowley's upper arm and he squeezed it to encourage him. "This cuddling business, you do like it, don’t you? It’s not just something for me, is it?" Crowley aksed.

“I- No, it’s- I mean yes, I enjoy it too,” Aziraphale said, his voice growing more certain as he settled into telling the truth.

Crowley breathed for a moment, then whispered, “why? I know what I get out of it, what do you?”

Aziraphale smiled, although he felt oddly sad. “Oh? What do you get?” He deflected.

“I asked first.”

“So you did,” Aziraphale admitted. He shut his eyes, very glad Crowley couldn’t see him if he was going to answer questions like this. “Oh, how do I put this?” He whispered into the back of Crowley’s neck. 

Crowley’s hand raised and rested on Aziraphale’s own, their fingers entwining naturally. Aziraphale lay and breathed, enjoying the tickle of Crowley’s hair against his lips and the quiet atmosphere between them.

“I don’t really pray anymore,” Aziraphale muttered. He wasn’t sure how to speak to his feelings yet, but he was certainly feeling them and figured it would work out once he started. “And I don’t feel like She’s watching, but I used to. Despite everything, I did think She cared and She watched and cared.”

Crowley’s hand tightened in his, but he was uninterrupted as he fell quiet again, taking a moment to make his way through the difficulty.

“But I should have Fallen,” Aziraphale said finally, “with all I did, I should have.” At that Crowley did react, he began to turn, leaning his shoulder into Aziraphale’s chest to face him. Aziraphale gripped his bicep tightly, holding him where he was, completely sure he wouldn’t speak if he had to meet Crowley’s eyes. “No, I should have, really,” Aziraphale said as Crowley stilled again. “But She’s not- I just- I miss- I feel so alone, Crowley.”

Crowley was still in his arms, his body taut as he lay against Aziraphale’s chest, his weight heavy and present. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Aziraphale chuckled hollowly. He ran his thumb against Crowley’s arm, relaxing his grip. “It’s- it’s okay, dear. I like being near you in this quiet way.”

Crowley took his hand again. “I’m glad to bring you some comfort.”

Aziraphale smiled. He felt a little less like his heart may stop. “I’m glad to have you.”

“You’ve been very brave.”

“I haven’t-”

Crowley interrupted, his voice quiet but important. “I railed and screamed when I lost my faith, there wasn’t time yet, but it would’ve lasted years. Before and after I Fell,” he whispered. 

Aziraphale thought about it, Crowley rarely talked about his Fall. He was loathe to point it out, it seemed the kind of moment of vulnerability that should just be allowed, not examined. 

“I’m not sure mine's gone, just,” Aziraphale muttered, pulling Crowley closer to him again. “Just shifted. It’s hard, but I’m disappointed in Her.”

Crowley wriggled, trying to turn to face him again. This time Aziraphale let him. He tangled his legs with Aziraphale’s, holding him with every limb given to him. “You’re lonely,” he said. 

Aziraphale smiled. “Somewhat. I’m aimless, and that’s lonely. I don’t know how to be free.”

Crowley moved towards him and for a split second Aziraphale thought he might kiss him, but no. That was, after all, not an option. He held him, pulling him close. They lay together for some time, wrapped in each other, breathing gently through their common sadness until it passed. 


	5. Chapter 5

The power went out one night on the street. They had been sitting together resetting the chess board after Crowley had played really a very dirty misdirection tactic and won the game. They had disagreed about how to handle the power outage and Aziraphale had been too slow to understand why, roughly fifteen minutes too slow, and so hadn't backed down when in hindsight he ought to have. 

"Oh dear, I'll get the candles," Aziraphale said as he stood, opening a few extra eyes to help him see in the dark bookshop.

"You can make light, don't bother," Crowley said easily. Aziraphale could see him clearly, he was continuing to reset the board, also unhindered by the dark. 

"That will look odd, if everyone else has their lights off except us," Aziraphale pointed out.

"Then just leave it dark."

"That will also look odd. Besides, I like the flicker of a few candles about."

Crowley paused, a bishop in his hands. "Fine," he said quietly. 

So Aziraphale had collected his candles. They didn't need many to see the chess board so he set four on the shelf next to them and lit them, making sure the flame was a distance from anything that would catch. 

He sat back down, surprised to find that Crowley hadn't finished resetting the board yet. He was instead staring at the candles, still holding the bishop. His eyes were wide and his pupils large in the dark room, the colour of his yellow iris exaggerated by the soft light of the candle. 

Aziraphale let him enjoy the sight, candles were so pretty, and continued to set the board. 

Finally the only piece left to place was the bishop in Crowley's hand. Aziraphale looked at him expectantly, but Crowley ignored him, staring silently at the candles. He held the bishop tight, too tight. "Crowley?" Aziraphale asked gently.

Crowley started and turned to him. He relaxed as they met eyes and hummed in response. He followed Aziraphale's pointed gaze to the board and put the bishop down gingerly. 

Aziraphale always played white, so he began. Crowley moved his piece in turn and the game played for a short while without interruption. Then Crowley moved a knight in an unexpected way and Aziraphale had to pause and think. 

He decided to castle rather than meet Crowley's knight on the field, then looked at Crowley, not entirely sure he'd made the right decision. Crowley had returned to watching the flames dance again. He was beautiful in this low light. He was beautiful in all light, but in this his hair was luminous and his eyes bewitching. His profile shifted in the flicker from strong to vulnerable, as he looked simultaneously sad and brave.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale prodded after a few moments too many had passed. Crowley jumped again and looked at Aziraphale. "Your turn."

Crowley studied the board, but he glanced at the candles a few times before simply shifting a pawn forwards. Aziraphale watched Crowley rather than take his turn immediately, and sure enough he returned to staring at the candles quickly.

Aziraphale moved a pawn, and again Crowley required a small nag to regain his attention. 

"Sorry, angel," Crowley sighed this time. He shifted in his chair, forcing his full attention on the game with an uncommon frown. 

A few quick back and forths ensued and a fairly normal pattern of play emerged. Crowley seemed to relax again and even chuckled when Aziraphale took one of his rooks. Of course then he forced a bishop quite far across the board and Azirpahale had to stop and consider that. 

After a moment of considering it he muttered, "oh dear," as he saw quite a lot of good opportunities for Crowley down the line. Crowley grinned at him and sat back in his chair. 

Aziraphale hemmed and hawwed and generally sat indecisively as he studied the board. Time passed and Crowley was quiet so Aziraphale didn't look at him. 

Aziraphale was deep in thought, roughly ten moves ahead in his theorising, when Crowley stood, knocking the board with his thigh. 

The more top-heavy pieces tipped over. Aziraphale caught the board in surprise, looking up at Crowley in alarm, ready to tell him off for his carelessness when he saw what Crowley was doing and all understanding left him.

Three candles sat as a bunch, the fourth on its own. Crowley had wrapped his hands around the candles, his left hand holding the tops of the three and his right the one. His grips masked the light and by now had certainly extinguished it, but still he held the candles. 

There was a heavy silence as Crowley stood with his head bowed, gripping the dead candles and ignoring Aziraphale's frightened and concerned stare. 

Aziraphale stood slowly, watching him carefully, his many eyes opening to try and see. The last lines of smoke dissipated above them as Crowley stood, arms extended, muscles quivering, eyes shut tightly. 

"Crowley," Aziraphale said softly, a hint of a question in his tone but really just something to break the silence. 

Crowley let got of the candles, pulling his hands to his side quickly. "Sorry," he muttered, avoiding Aziraphale's gaze expertly. 

Aziraphale looked at the smushed candles and back to Crowley, at a loss for words. "What…?" He asked vaguely. 

Crowley crossed his arms, still looking at his feet. "Just- no candles, please," he said. "I mean." He glanced at Aziraphale who, despite the near pitch black of the shop, could clearly see the tears in his eyes. He felt a deep sense of foreboding and regret come over him. "No fire."

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale sighed as comprehension flooded him. “Oh, my dear, okay,” he agreed. He leaned over the chess board and took Crowley by the upper arms, gently stepping to pull him away from the remains of the candles. He felt quite the fool. 

Crowley was easily led for a few steps, then he stopped. “I’m fine,” he said tersely. “Don’t need- we can get back to the game, I know where the pieces should be.”

“Of course, dear, in a moment. Just let me check your hands for wounds first,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley let himself be led again, obeying Aziraphale’s gentle encouragement to the collection of couches. “I don't burn,” Crowley muttered, his hands still balled into tight fists. 

They moved slowly, so slowly that Aziraphale’s patience wore out and he sat them on the coffee table rather than bothering with the three more feet to the couch.

“No, of course not,” Aziraphale agreed. He ran his hands down the length of Crowley’s arms and took his hands, carefully avoiding looking at his face. He had no doubt that if he had them available Crowley would have put his glasses on by now, but in the dark he had not and Aziraphale didn’t want to see what Crowley didn’t want to show. So he focused on gently pulling Crowley’s hands open, massaging his knuckles and uncurling his fingers slowly. Crowley may do what he wanted with his expression and Aziraphale would politely ignore it. 

“Just you,” Crowley whispered. 

Aziraphale’s heart gave two strong beats, the sound rushing his ears. But still he didn’t look at Crowley.

The wax from the candles had cooled as they had walked to the table and sat in varying thick and thin layers attached to Crowley’s palm. Aziraphale began slowly picking and pulling the wax off, rubbing his thumb against Crowley’s cleaned skin to dislodge the remnants. Aziraphale thought about it all, trying to find something that Crowley didn’t already know that might help him.

There wasn’t much, Crowley was very smart. 

“You know I wasn't caught in the fire, right?” Aziraphale asked quietly after many minutes had passed. Crowley’s hands were clean and, as he had promised, unhurt. Their legs and the ground beyond was littered with flecks of dry wax. 

“What d'you mean?”

Aziraphale continued his work despite having completed it already. He pressed his thumb into the dip between Crowley’s knuckles, feeling the bones beneath shift generously to let him explore. He caught the base of Crowley’s pinky with his fingers in something like a full handed pinch and rolled it in his fingertips, moving steadily down the length, then repeated the action for each of his fingers, then again on his other hand. 

He flipped Crowley’s hand and pressed both his thumbs into his palm almost roughly. Crowley tensed, then relaxed mightily as Aziraphale dragged his thumbs down his hand, returning and pushing small circles into the patches that made Crowley shudder. He slotted his finger’s between Crowley’s, holding his wrist with his free hand, and pulled away, dragging his grip down the length of Crowley’s fingers slowly. As he let go Crowley gasped, leaning forwards with the release. 

“I discorporated before then,” Aziraphale said. He decided to give up on the pretense and began massaging Crowley’s wrist, where no wax had touched. 

“How?” Crowley asked, his voice deep and quiet. 

Aziraphale reached the cuff of Crowley’s shirt sleeve, unbuttoned of course, and looked at him. Aziraphale sighed at the sight, the breath pulled from him in the kind of slow surprise that the night offered. Crowley had cried at some point, the tear tracks as clear to Aziraphale as if they sat in the noon sun. He wasn’t crying now, the tears were old, instead he looked at Aziraphale with open fear and adoration and Aziraphale felt very much like he didn’t deserve it. 

Aziraphale watched for Crowley’s reaction and pushed his sleeve up, bunching the fabric at his elbow. Crowley let him, his eyes wide and focused. Aziraphale could be easily convinced that Crowley hadn’t noticed his continued touch crawling up his forearm.

Aziraphale pressed his thumbs into Crowley’s arm, not really sure what he was doing but following an instinct to take Crowley’s pain from him. He pulled Crowley’s skin towards him, dragging his thumbs down his forearm heavily then returning and doing it again and again in slightly different areas, always pulling towards himself. 

Amazingly, Crowley let him. He was moved by Aziraphale’s steady touch and leaned in towards him slowly. Aziraphale had finally pressed every part of Crowley’s arm, so he rubbed the remaining tension from his wrist and hand, then moved to his other arm. He repeated his check, watching Crowley’s expression as he rolled his sleeve up, then returning his attention to his work. 

“I- it's so silly, dear, I'm afraid I'm embarrassed,’ Aziraphale explained as he rolled small circles into the crook of Crowley’s elbow. 

Crowley was quiet for a little, his breathing heavier than usual. “Did you mean to?” He asked.

Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s elbow in surprise. “No!” He exclaimed, looking at Crowley, then quickly looking away as he saw Crowley’s tears had returned to well in his eyes. “Oh my gosh, no,” Aziraphale said. He relaxed his grip and continued to massage Crowley’s arm as he made himself speak. “No, I- I was trying to talk to God, but I got Metatron of course,” he said, deeply embarrassed by it all. The weakness, the lack of faith, of trust he’d had in Crowley. All the bad it had brought. “And then that absurd Scottish witch man came by and he thought, well, a good deal and none of it good, but regardless he didn't mean to, I think he meant very little indeed, but I somewhat fell into the, you know, and, well, that was that,” he finished badly. 

He was so warm, some of it from the allowed touch, most of it from shame.

“I didn't-” Crowley said, then shook his head, interrupting himself. He slipped his arm out of Aziraphale’s grip and in the second that followed Aziraphale managed to think a great many wordless thoughts that told him he had irrevocably fucked up. But Crowley took both his hands in his, tipping his head closer still. Their breaths mingled. “I thought you burned,” Crowley whispered. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes and held Crowley’s hands tightly. “What you must've been thinking, as you stood in that Hellfire for me,” he muttered.

Crowley let out a long, slow breath and began to fall forwards. His head reached Aziraphale’s shoulder and he stayed there, resting on him in silence. 

Aziraphale held Crowley's hands and restrained himself until he felt he would die from it. 

“Crowley, may I give you a hug?” He asked tensely. 

“I don't think I'll behave,” Crowley murmured into his collar.

Aziraphale had no idea what that meant or what he may be inviting by allowing it, but there was no way he would ever try and make Crowley behave. “You needn't perform here, darling. May I?” He asked again. 

Crowley nodded quietly and moved in first, responding immediately to the given permission. Aziraphale dropped his hands and instead wrapped his arms around Crowley, holding him close. Crowley moved closer than Aziraphale could have imagined he would outside of their bed, his hands slipped under Aziraphale’s coat and gripped the back of his vest tightly, his face buried in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. 

They sat for a long while. The shop was silent and the street beyond more so. Crowley began to relax after perhaps an hour, but he did not move away. Aziraphale did not relax, he spent the whole time thinking about how he was being held, how warm it all felt, how put together it was, and how he would miss it when it ended.

Crowley sighed into his neck, then sat back, his hands leaving their tight wrap in Aziraphale's clothes to rest hesitantly on his knees instead. Aziraphale let him pull away with sorrow, ready to return to the lonely fog that hovered about him. But he saw Crowley's face and the silent tears that had fallen and he decided that he couldn't be done yet. 

"Dear," Aziraphale croaked. Crowley turned away but Aziraphale caught him, his fingertips barely tapping Crowley's jaw, but enough that he took the hint and did not leave.

Crowley grimaced stared down at the pile of dried wax on the ground.

Aziraphale shifted forwards and held Crowley's head firmly between his hands, no longer pretending not to notice the tear tracks on his face. He met Crowley’s eyes confidently, forcing an acknowledgement of Crowley’s crying into the room. Crowley held his gaze for a few seconds, then looked away and closed his eyes, his mouth pulling miserably. As he closed his eyes, tears fell anew.

Aziraphale held him and leaned in. He didn’t feel brave, more desperate to comfort Crowley in some way, any way. He kissed Crowley’s cheekbone, where a drop of misery slowly trailed, and tasted the ashen salt of Crowley’s tears. 

Crowley’s hand on his knee tightened and his body went suddenly very still, but he did not move away. Aziraphale was languid, leaving his lips on Crowley’s skin longer than necessary. He ended the gentle kiss and moved, barely pulling away to do so, and kissed his other cheek, wiping the water from him. 

They sat silently together for a few more hours, then all at once the lights came back on and Crowley pretended nothing had happened.

Two months passed. Crowley slept three times and didn’t have a nightmare once. When he was alone all Aziraphale thought about were his memories of holding Crowley. He began to covet his company and came up with more and more reasons for them to spend time together, going out for meals further away so that they’d have the drive as well, inviting a few plants into the shop (not many, mind, he wasn’t sure the mister was good for the books). He even visited Crowley at his apartment once, he’d been away a few days and Aziraphale had grown near unbearably lonely and had nothing else to do with his day.

Crowley seemed to enjoy his visit, so he decided to do so again some time. 

Still, Crowley slept in the room upstairs.

“Mornin,” Crowley grumbled into Aziraphale’s side. Aziraphale had sat up in bed reading a simple book and had grown increasingly amused as Crowley ignored the norms of a bed and had wriggled in his sleep until he lay somewhere between side on and upside down in the bed. His head was pressed into the dip under Aziraphale’s rips, his legs tangled up with the pillow and one arm somehow snaking under Aziraphale’s lower back

“Not exactly, but I'll let you get away with it,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley groaned. “Magnanimous- sanctimonious bastard,” he slurred. 

Aziraphale pretended he was still reading. “Such long words, so poorly used.”

“Blerg, s'hard.”

Aziraphale felt himself smiling and did nothing to hide it. “Did you sleep well?”

Crowley shifted, turning to lie fully upside down in the bed, his legs hitting the wall as he shimmied his way down to rest his head on the bunched sheets by Aziraphale’s thigh. “You tell me,” he said.

Aziraphale put his book down. “You seemed uninterrupted.”

Crowley lolled his head, his cheek resting on Aziraphale’s thigh. “I was thinking,” he muttered.

Aziraphale pulled a pillow from the wall and leaned forwards to force it beneath Crowley’s head. Crowley let him, grumbling like he was annoyed by the action, but sitting up enough to let him slip the pillow into place easily. As he sat back, hand resting on Crowley’s hip, Crowley blinked at him fondly. 

“You should get a thing,” Crowley said. 

“A thing?”

Crowley touched the back of Aziraphale’s hand gently, his fingertips tracing his knuckles. “Something to do, a project,” he said, watching the path he was touching.

Aziraphale focused on not tightening his grip on Crowley’s hip noticeably, on pretending that the featherlight touch wasn’t making his heart stutter. “I run a shop,” he said.

Crowley smirked and looked at him. “Not often.”

Aziraphale frowned but Crowley’s responding smile left him thinking his frown wasn’t believed. “Don't devalue my hard work,” he said defensively.

“Pfft,” Crowley devalued. His gaze returned to their hands. “But I mean something to do other than wait around for me to wake up,” he said softly.

Aziraphale felt both a rush of panic and a swell of steady sadness. “You don't like my being h-”

Crowley sat up immediately. “No, no, I do!” He said quickly. His leg curled into the gap behind Aziraphale’s back and the bedhead, pulling him very close. “I really do,” he said, curling his back so that he could meet Aziraphale’s eyes. He scratched a small cross over his heart as he said, “ah, swear it. I just- I've seen you happier than you seem now.”

Aziraphale shut his eyes and reminded himself that he could trust Crowley. It was moments like these, when they sat close, that he thought he would believe just about everything Crowley said without a doubt. He put his hand back on Crowley’s hip hesitantly, it had fallen off with the dramatic movement. He opened his eyes to see Crowley’s far too upset expression and sighed. He moved a strand of hair away from Crowley’s eyes. “I'm very happy right now,” he said, which wasn’t true at the moment, but it usually was.

“Not this second in particular,” Crowley said softly. “I mean in general. I've seen you happier.”

“Well, I suppose,” Aziraphale allowed. “I've nothing to be doing, though.”

Crowley shifted closer somehow, his hands resting on Aziraphale’s abdomen. When had they gotten comfortable like this, Aziraphale wondered. They never had been before, it was just this last year. They were very close, it was intimate. “That's what I've been thinking about! You should just pick something to do. Like, you know, join a book club or be a restaurant reviewer or go about cataloging mosaics,” Crowley said while Aziraphale thought about how he was being touched.

Aziraphale repeated what Crowley had said to himself, trying to sift through the suggestions seriously. “Mosaics?” He asked, nonplussed.

Crowley grinned. “You could take photos of your food and put them online.”

Aziraphale’s hand was still on Crowley’s shoulder from when he’d moved his hair. He felt his way slowly, surprised at how appropriate it felt. He cupped Crowley’s jaw, his thumb resting on his chin. Then Aziraphale, feeling emboldened and cared for, ran his thumb across Crowley’s lip, feeling the chapped texture rapturously.

“Why would I do that?” Aziraphale asked as he dragged Crowley’s lower lip down slightly, letting it fall from his catch slowly.

Crowley swallowed, his eyes wide and his pupils nearly round. “People do that now,” he whispered. He shut his eyes and let out a shaky breath as Aziraphale removed his hand from Crowley’s jaw. 

Crowley shook his head tightly, then said, “Oh! On that note, Nazis are back. You could take them on again.”

Aziraphale’s heart went cold. He leant back against the wall, his hand falling away from Crowley completely “I hardly did a good job of it,” he muttered.

Crowley chased him, leaning forwards to stay near him. “I thought you were marvellous,” he said.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to refute him, but his lip wobbled so he shut it again. He swallowed. He wanted to believe him, he could if he tried, but this,  _ this _ was too much. “Don’t make fun of me,” he whispered, deeply embarrassed to have to ask.

Crowley shifted again, one knee resting in Aziraphale’s lap as his other leg wrapped around behind his body. He took Aziraphale’s face in his hands and held him close before him, fingers pressing into the back of his jaw as he sweetly, sincerely said, “I’m not, Aziraphale. I think you’re amazing.”

Aziraphale believed him. Then Aziraphale kissed him. 

The kiss lasted barely a second, just a heavy press of lips, before Aziraphale wrenched himself away in a panic.

“Oh- oh my God-” Aziraphale said mindlessly. “Oh my, I’m sorry, I am sorry, I-”

“Do that again,” Crowley interrupted. His eyes were shut and he looked like he might dissolve. His hands were still at the back of Aziraphale’s neck and he hadn’t let up his grip at all, if anything he was pulling Aziraphale closer again. 

“What?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley’s eye’s pinched, his wrinkles deepening as he kept them shut. “Do you want to?” He whimpered, so quietly. “Pl- please want to.”

Aziraphale took three quick breaths, desperately keeping himself from opening his wings and flying away. Then slowly, so slowly, he didn’t want to take from Crowley more than he had, he wanted Crowley to be warned and unsurprised, he kissed him again. 

Crowley kissed him back, pulling him close and pressing his lips to him and Aziraphale felt entirely alive at last. Crowley made a quiet noise in the back of his throat and Aziraphale stopped breathing, focusing on kissing him, wanting to hear that again. 

Crowley seemed like he was about to deepen the kiss, but just as Aziraphale was beginning to think maybe that thing about tongues wouldn’t be as gross as he’d always thought Crowley made that noise again and leaned away. 

They sat together for a moment, their breaths quick and shallow. Then Crowley finally opened his eyes and the last vestiges of Aziraphale’s doubt floated away. He hadn’t overstepped, infact Aziraphale felt for once that he had taken the perfect step. Crowley patted him on the chest and nodded, quickly kissing his lips, then began to climb out of the bed.

And so it changed. Not an awful lot, but a bit. They didn’t discuss it, which they agreed a year or so later had been a mistake, but they weren’t in the habit of being able to discuss things openly. They were in the habit of secretly consorting with each other, (although Crowley balked at the word) of not being able to put words to their actions lest it become true and punishable. It developed and they kissed in bed, but only in bed. Aziraphale felt fairly pleased with himself for the inherent bravery in that much, he didn’t have the spunk to try kissing Crowley anywhere else and Crowley didn’t kiss him so he figured he was reading things correctly.

Aziraphale was growing concerned about developing a Pavlovian response to beds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter seven is fighting me fucking hard! this was originally gonna be six chapters, i think it'll probs end up at eight actually cos these idiots keep opening new wounds, or reopening old ones. i'll get it all closed, they'll be happy!!


	6. Chapter 6

Things were less lonely. Aziraphale took Crowley’s advice and joined a book club, but he didn’t want to read any of the books they suggested and they were oddly strong willed when he tried to convince them to try different novels. He left the book club and joined a baking class that he did poorly in but enjoyed immensely (Crowley had a nibble of everything he brought home and announced it all a triumph, but didn’t eat any more), and found a bird watches group that turned out to be rather fun, even if some of the people in that group were dunces.

Crowley slept more often and for less time. Nearly once a week now he would wander upstairs, making sure to tell Aziraphale where he was off to, and have a quick twelve hour nap. The first time Aziraphale had nearly missed it, Crowley usually slept for days and he was still downstairs on the phone to a rare books seller who foolishly seemed happy to actually sell some of his collection when he noticed Crowley roll over quickly, his arm splaying out and roaming the bed. 

Aziraphale excused himself from the phone call with some rudeness and hurried up the stairs. 

His heart lurched as he opened the door and heard Crowley’s mutter of, “where…” It had been some time since Crowley’s last nightmare and he kicked himself for being away. 

But as he turned into the room he met Crowley’s eyes, wide open and watching him with alertness. “Oh,” Aziraphale said, “are you awake, dear?”

Crowley nodded slowly, warily. He was surrounded by pillows and looked rather luxurious. 

“I apologise,” Aziraphale said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, “you’re usually asleep much longer. Did you have a nightmare?”

Crowley shook his head. A moment passed with a touch of awkwardness, then Crowley tipped forwards and crawled to Aziraphale’s side, laying on his stomach down the length of the bed. “You c’n go back t’ doing your thing ‘f’you’re busy,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale put his hand in Crowley’s hair, scratching his head fondly. “Not at all,” he said. 

Crowley lay quietly for a moment, then rolled over, his eyes wide and somewhat scared. “Mornin’ kiss?” He asked quietly.

Aziraphale was pretty confident he wouldn’t’ve needed wings to fly right now. He grinned and leaned down before the request had time to stew and kissed Crowley gently into his new day.

It was certainly the best part of living, when he kissed Crowley.

Aziraphale came home from bird watching in a foul mood one day. It had been some time since something had set him off properly and he was enjoying it a good deal. He scowled at people and quietly blessed them to make up for it. He tapped the pedestrian lights button four times even though it made no difference. He tried kicking the curb but chickened out in fear of scuffing his shoes. 

Crowley had noticed, of course. He had been laying on Aziraphale’s couch when Aziraphale got in, holding a potted plant at an increasingly risky angle, chuckling as soil trickled onto the floor and the leaves twitched in fear of falling. 

He sat up as Aziraphale entered, miracling the fallen dirt off the floor. Aziraphale glared at him and slammed the door.

“Are you…” Crowley asked slowly, leaning towards Aziraphale as he studied him, trying to read his mood. Aziraphale scowled helpfully. “Angry?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale said. He stomped across the room and sat in his chair with a harumph.

“You look like you’re about to laugh,” Crowley pointed out. 

Aziraphale chose to ignore that. He crossed his legs, then decided that didn’t look very annoyed so he uncrossed them and stuck his legs out, one ankle above the other. It was a pose he’d seen Crowley take before and had always thought it had an impatient kind of attitude to it. “Roger is the biggest fool I've ever met,’ he explained. 

Crowley began to grin slowly. “I’m sure he means well,” he said.

Aziraphale huffed. “It hardly matters when every time he opens his mouth such utter drivel comes out-” he stopped, watching Crowley as he pulled the strangest expression. A moment later it became clear he was trying, poorly, to restrain a yawn. “You're tired,” Aziraphale said, his exaggerated annoyance briefly forgotten as he watched Crowley.

Crowley shook his head quickly. “Barely, tell me about Roger,” he said. 

“You’re welcome to sleep if you-”

“Angel,” Crowley sighed, “I wouldn't miss you complaining for the world. I want to hear about Roger’s bullshit, please.”

Aziraphale smiled, then scowled and dived right back in. “Well, he…” and Aziraphale went on to describe to an amused Crowley that Roger had misidentified a finch which had pulled him into first place in this month’s bird bingo and the disagreement had been irate but very hushed because they were all covered in leaves and hiding in a bush together. Of course, Aziraphale didn’t mind Roger misidentifying a bird, humans are humans, but the sheer headed attitude of not believing Aziraphale when Aziraphale had been  right  was annoying. 

By the time Aziraphale had finished his complaint he was sitting on the couch, Crowley’s legs thrown over his lap as Crowley leant on the armrest and closed his eyes, muttering the odd follow up question and laughing quietly at Aziraphale’s descriptions. He opened one eye every now and again to throw him a quizzical look or just to see him. Aziraphale enjoyed it all deeply, he liked having things to talk about, things to tell Crowley, and he enjoyed meeting new people and describing a pleasant summary of his life a year and a half on from the apocalypse.

Crowley still had his life, he kept up his criminal contacts and coordinated his various rodents to take apart businesses he didn't like. He bought a new watch then infested the shop that he'd bought it from to ensure it would be unique. He took out a church (to Aziraphale's displeasure) and in accidental collateral caused a bakery next door to close for a month (to Aziraphale's actual displeasure).

They went to museums and walked along familiar riverbanks together. They, to any onlookers, would have appeared good friends. And that is what they were. Aziraphale occasionally spied a young couple exchanging a kiss and felt a jealousy that was more akin to sorrow than anger. 

They kissed when Crowley woke, at least, and that was wonderful.

Aziraphale sat in their bed doing some embroidery. He was good at it, but it wasn’t really that interesting. It had been a worthwhile effort, though, he was enjoying discovering things he didn’t like nearly as much as things he did. 

He was keeping this piece a secret for now for he wasn’t sure if Crowley would appreciate it or not. He had been wonderfully kind, of course, insisting that everything Aziraphale tried his hand at was the best thing he’d ever seen. Aziraphale was unconvinced, but the flattery was lovely. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for with this, an embroidered snake. Perhaps he simply wanted to trick Crowley into complimenting himself for once, rather than simply lavishing praise on Aziraphale. The demon still wouldn’t easily take a kind word from Aziraphale.

Crowley began to stir slowly and Aziraphale put the piece to the side, upside down so as to hide the picture. 

Crowley had curled into a ball quite a ways down the bed, his shoulder brushing Aziraphale’s knee. He began to unwind now and Aziraphale enjoyed the sight of his eyes opening to face the day and the soft, confused expression as he got his bearings. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale said softly as Crowley began to stretch, his body bending in ways it probably shouldn’t. 

Crowley hummed quietly and threw his body forwards, landing gently on Aziraphale’s lap. “Angel,” he greeted warmly, then he yawned.

Aziraphale played with his hair briefly, waiting, then grew impatient. “Give me a kiss, dear,” he suggested.

Crowley chuckled but began moving towards him, sitting up to face him better. He gave him a quick, lazy peck of a kiss then chuckled again. 

“Come now, you can do better than that,” Aziraphale admonished with a smile. 

Crowley grinned and did just so, kissing him politely as he knelt before him. It had been months and they had barely hinted at deepening their kiss, they just pressed their lips together and held each other. 

Crowley pulled back first, he always did. “Can I?” He whispered.

Aziraphale’s good mood remained, but the light and amused atmosphere he’s held faded as he met Crowley’s serious eyes. “Can you what?” He asked.

Crowley looked at his lips then returned his gaze to his eyes. “Kiss you better, may I?”

Aziraphale breathed out heavily. He had imagined this, he often did as Crowley slept. He nodded, unable to think of the words to say. 

Crowley waited another second, then leaned forwards and kissed him. It was normal for a moment, then Crowley opened his mouth and his tongue trailed across Aziraphale’s lip, the change in texture unmistakable. 

Aziraphale responded with the practice of one who has imagined this many times. He opened his mouth a hint and repeated Crowley’s motion back to him. Crowley’s hands flew to his face, holding his jaw firmly as he knelt closer, his knees digging into Aziraphale’s thigh. He kissed him, open mouthed and wanton and Aziraphale believed with all his might that there was nothing better in this universe than Crowley.

His hands were in Crowley’s silk pajamas, clutching the fabric tightly and pulling him close as they made out and Aziraphale decided tongues weren’t that gross after all. Here was another thing he liked.

Crowley pulled back first and Aziraphale chased him, not caring for the moment if he seemed desperate. 

“Is that the door?” Crowley asked breathlessly.

Aziraphale had to acknowledge what was clearly a repeating and irate knocking at his door downstairs. But he didn’t have to do anything about it. “Ignore it, they'll go away eventually,” he said, tugging on Crowley’s shirt pointedly and kissing him as he acquiesced. 

The kiss was very brief as Crowley whimpered once (that sound did far too much to Aziraphale) and pulled away. “I'm not sure they're going to go away, angel,” he said quickly.

Aziraphale had gotten used to this pattern now, although he liked it less than the others. Crowley would kiss him until he whimpered, then he would stop. Very well, Aziraphale would respect his boundary. He dropped Crowley’s shirt and sat back, trying very hard not to curse whatever stupid human had ruined his nice moment. 

“Well, I don't want whoever it is to waste their time, I'll go tell them myself that they ought to leave,” he said. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, holding his hands to his stomach politely as he felt a pang of abandonment.

“How kind,” Crowley said and the sad loneliness faded quickly. 

Aziraphale faced him. “Thank you,” he said softly. 

Crowley grinned and flopped forward onto the bed, his head landing next to Aziraphale. “And generous,” he said smugly.

Aziraphale frowned, although he was very happy. “Now you're making me think you're not being sincere,” he said.

Crowley laughed silently at him. “You're a good soul,” he said, and it was mostly sarcastic. 

Aziraphale looked down at him with as much condescension as his good mood would allow. “I'm better than you,” he said, and left, enjoying the sound of Crowley’s light laughter as he did. 

Aziraphale smiled the whole way to the door (still being knocked, someone was persistent) and remembered at the last moment that he should be stern. He spent a second schooling his face then swung the door open.

Gabriel opened his raised fist to a flat palm and waved. “Hi!” He said loudly, with a large grin. 

Aziraphale shut the door. The banging started up again without hesitation. 

Aziraphale turned and found Crowley beginning to waltz downstairs, back in his usual clothes. “Get out,” Aziraphale ordered.

Crowley paused, halfway through a step, hand on the banister. Aziraphale was struck with a pulse of love and fear so strong he nearly staggered from it. 

Crowley frowned, seeming somewhat offended. “What?” He asked blandly.

Aziraphale sprinted badly up the stairs and took his hand, dragging him down carelessly. “Get out, now,” he said, his instinctual response to seeing Gabriel beginning to settle into such recognisable feelings as terror, shame, and a panic that strangled him. 

Crowley let himself be led but did not match his hurry. “I'm sorry," he said. Aziraphale had no idea what he was apologising for.

Aziraphale busied him into the kitchen, leaving a wide berth between them and the door. “I've got it handled,” he lied, “now, if you climb out the kitchen window you should be safe.”

Crowley batted his hand off his shoulder. He frowned at Aziraphale, his expression halfway between concern and misery. “I'm not going to- who is it?”

Aziraphale let out a quick, choked breath, then said, “Gabriel.”

Crowley reeled back an inch and stared at him. His eyes did a few things, widening and narrowing as his pupil grew wider, then very thin indeed. He shook his head. “Oh there's no way in He- Hea- I'm not leaving.”

“You must, he will have no compun-”

“He tried to kill you,” Crowley interrupted furiously. 

Aziraphale saw it all playing out, how it would happen. Gabriel had no sympathy in him, no grasp of nuance. In the best case scenario he would see Crowley and kill him on sight for he is a demon and had tempted an angel. The worst, and more likely, case had Gabriel recognising a connection between Aziraphale and Crowley, one Aziraphale had denied for millennia, and using the opportunity to cause Crowley’s death as a punishment for Aziraphale. 

There was likely a better plan that could be thought up but Gabriel was still loudly knocking to be let in and there simply wasn’t time to consider it. 

The best thing to do was to pretend Crowley wasn’t here and never would be.

“He will throw holy water at you on instinct, dear, please,” Aziraphale snapped. He took Crowley’s face in his hands and forced him to see the fear in his eyes. “I'm okay,” Aziraphale insisted. 

Crowley held his wrist, leaning into the touch of his hand heavily for a second, then he let go and nodded. Aziraphale kissed him, unwilling to face what could be an untimely end without doing so again. Crowley gasped against his lips but returned the kiss heavily, his fingers ghosting across the front of Aziraphale’s unbuttoned vest. It did not go unnoticed to Aziraphale that this was their first kiss outside the safety of their bed. 

It was brief and Aziraphale stepped away mournfully. Crowley nodded again and turned to the window. Aziraphale left.

He did his vest up on the way, might as well make some show of propriety, and tried to brainstorm how to behave. His mind gave him nothing, he simply had no idea how to navigate this. From behind him he heard a small mutter of, “shit,” from Crowley and smiled to himself. Crowley made him strong. Crowley’s safety made him stronger. 

He opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahaha it's at ten chapters now im losing my mind  
i like where the ending is going at last tho, so it should be done soon! thank you all for your patience and wonderful comments, it's really keeping me moving! i love you, yes you, thank you <3  
also sorry about the cliffhanger kinda ending, i dont generally like those but ill have the next chapter up as soon as i can manage, hopefully later tonight, if not then def tomorrow. it's gabriel babey i gotta write some panicked tones xx


	7. Chapter 7

All sense of self left him. He somewhat giddily acknowledged that he would likely handle this horribly but would simply have to come to terms with it later. This would play out as it would, he was as much an onlooker as a participant.

“Gabriel,” he greeted rudely.

Gabriel grinned like he had been welcomed with a hug. “Hello, Aziraphale,” he said joyfully. 

Aziraphale still didn’t know what to say, so he just pursed his lips and waited. 

Gabriel paused, clearly expecting something. He did not receive it and frowned for a moment before grinning at full strength again. “May I come in? I have some paperwork for you to sign.”

It was tempting to invite him in, but he knew injuring an archangel wasn’t really the attention he needed. Better to try and keep disappearing. “Unfortunately there are wards set to hurt your kind if you step over the threshold, so best not,” Aziraphale said coldly. He still held the door, ready to close it if he felt the need. 

He briefly saw this sight from an outsider's perspective. A corner of his mind tried to remember if he had eyes that far out, or if he was imagining it. 

He wondered if he respected himself. 

Gabriel’s face fell, and stayed fallen. “Ah,” he said, his eyebrows moving as he considered how to respond. His eyes roamed over the entryway warily. “Thank you for the warning,” he finally said with a great deal of awkwardness. 

Aziraphale smiled as rudely as he could, and with all the practice he had with his customers at doing so he felt confident the message got across. 

Gabriel shifted his weight onto his back foot and gestured behind him to the empty street. “Would you like to step out maybe?” He asked. He paused, then his mouth opened in an excited grin. “We could go to a sushi bar!” 

Aziraphale felt disgusted. “No, thank you,” he said stiffly. “You can leave me the papers, I'll fill them out.”

Gabriel frowned at him, he had clearly thought the sushi thing would work. Aziraphale was miserable, had he been so easily manipulated all this time? 

“Oh,” Gabriel said, his disappointment tangible. “Very well.” He passed him the paperwork reluctantly. Aziraphale took it and placed it on a small shelf behind the door. He didn't take his eyes off Gabriel for a moment. 

Gabriel began to turn to leave but Aziraphale knew better than to relax. Sure enough, halfway through his turn he raised a finger as if a thought had struck him out of the blue and he casually, oh so casually, said, “Oh, seeing as you're not doing anything, I do have a quick question.”

“I'm quite busy,” Aziraphale refuted.

Gabriel didn’t care, of course. “Just a small thing, we've been readjusting the requirements for Grace since you haven't Fallen and Dina has asked me to ask you what you think may have allowed you to keep your Grace.”

Aziraphale frowned and stood quietly, taking his time in deciding if he wanted to answer. Gabriel stood still and quiet, showing an uncommon patience. Aziraphale realised he had things to say, displeasure to express, and he could express them through this. “I have some thoughts on that, but I don't think you'll find them particularly enlightening,” he said.

Gabriel’s face was cold. “Try me,” he invited. 

Aziraphale studied him for another moment, briefly enjoying how uncomfortable the archangel was. “We are creations of love and mercy, no?” Aziraphale asked gently.

“And divine wrath and power,” Gabriel said with a frown. 

Aziraphale sniffed, the sound intentionally derisive. “Well, given that I haven't Fallen, I suspect those aren't so necessary,” he said condescendingly. He tilted his head. “Although you haven't either, so perhaps I'm wrong,” he allowed. 

Gabriel didn’t have much of a handle on his expressions and he looked mightily offended. “I have a good deal of love and mercy, of course I do,” he snapped.

“But not for humanity,” Aziraphale said.

“I mean-”

Aziraphale interrupted, something he was fairly sure he had never done before. “You have no love for humanity,” he said, fury filling him as he spoke. “I do. You have no love for demons. I do.”

Gabriel’s eyes bugged out. “Demons?”

The wood of the door groaned and split under Aziraphale’s furious grip. Gabriel’s eyes flashed to the damage in a moment of fear that Aziraphale relished more than he was proud of. “They are Her children too,” Aziraphale spat. “I suspect that it is as much my love for Crowley as for humanity that has allowed me to retain my Grace.”

He carefully let go of the door before he damaged it beyond an easy repair. Gabriel stared at him, eyes wide as his expression grew more horrified. Aziraphale’s horror grew in sync as he realised he’d named Crowley when he should not have done so. He let out a few breaths and briefly considered closing his eyes and taking a moment to feel his regret, but Gabriel stood there still, aghast and judgmental. Aziraphale’s trial was not yet done, so he stood strong and glared.

“You're mad,” Gabriel said. 

“And you're horrible,” Aziraphale shot back. “And dense. And unendingly cruel.”

Gabriel swallowed, his jaw moving in barely restrained anger. “Well, thank you for that, I suppose. It hasn't been helpful.”

Aziraphale smiled with a sweet sarcasm. Perhaps he could insult Gabriel into forgetting Crowley. “Did I mention dense?” He hissed through his teeth. 

Gabriel’s jaw twitched mightily. “I'll take my leave,” he said. He turned and leaned towards the side of the shop, the side the kitchen ran along. “Sandalphon!” He called.

Aziraphale realised what that meant immediately. He had made Crowley climb out that window thinking it was safe. But he couldn’t leave the shop, he was safe here beyond the threshold, where Gabriel couldn’t touch him. And Crowley wouldn’t want him to leave, not with the promise of an unknowable but likely violent response from the archangel. Crowley wouldn’t want him to risk himself. 

Unfortunately for Crowley’s measured hopes, Aziraphale was in love.

“San-” Aziraphale began to say, then gave up entirely on caution and pushed Gabriel aside as he sped around the corner, terrified of the promise of a caught Crowley. A hurt Crowley. A dead Crowley.

Sandalphon stood, a slimy smile on his face as he met Aziraphale’s terrified gaze. 

No Crowley. Aziraphale took a deep breath. No sulfur or residual smiting ichor lingered in the air, and there hadn’t been time for that to dissipate if it had happened. 

Aziraphale nodded slowly, his panic and terror fading hesitantly. “Right,” he said, glaring at Sandalphon. 

“Anything for me to do, Gabriel?” Sandalphon said, his eagerness barely contained. “Anything at all?”

Aziraphale froze, realising his vulnerability. He waited silently, ready for the tone to be set. Was he to be carted off to Heaven and kept? Was he to be smited here on the street? Perhaps just punished as they thought him somewhat unkillable. Or would they ignore him, leave his vulnerability unacknowledged and disregard him. 

Perhaps he was so unimportant that they would just leave. That was its own sort of insult, but Aziraphale hoped for it. 

He waited. 

“No, no, let's be off,” Gabriel said busily.

Aziraphale refused the relief that tried to rush him. 

“So good to see you again, Aziraphale,” Sandalphon said horribly as he passed Aziraphale, knocking him hard in the arm. 

Aziraphale turned from the hit, moving with it and keeping defiant eye contact with Sandalphon. He knew with absolute certainty that if he should so choose, he could destroy these two without any great difficulty. He was a fighter by training, more so than them, and he would win. He glared at Sandalphon and knew this and enjoyed how small the disgusting angel’s smile became.

He turned his back on the pair and left, opening an extra eye to watch them and be sure they did fly away. They did so, without looking at him again. Disregard it was, Aziraphale could live with that. It was the easier option. It still stung.

The door complained as he shut it, a few splinters from his earlier anger falling off. “Oh dear,” Aziraphale sighed. He felt very cold. “Crowley?” 

Crowley’s head appeared in the kitchen doorway and Aziraphale nearly fell to his knees in relief, but his need to be close to Crowley won out. He sped across the shop floor to him. 

“I'm sorry, I tried to leave like you said but he was right there, and-”

“No, oh my,” Aziraphale gasped, interrupting Crowley’s ramble as he reached him. He went to touch Crowley but was so overwhelmed by it all that his fingers barely grazed him, fluttering with a noticeable tremble across his neck and chest. “You’re- oh, darling.”

“Are you okay?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale was okay, Crowley was safe so he was okay. But he was also dizzy and his mind was fogging. He could feel his tremble turning into a full shake. 

“I think I need to sit,” Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley nodded and took his elbows in his hands, holding him up as he led them to the couches. Aziraphale was inordinately relieved that Crowley had stayed, even though he hadn’t had a choice. He hated the thought of being alone now. 

They sat together and Crowley watched him warily. Aziraphale felt a little bit like crying, but he didn’t want to so he suspected he wouldn't. After a few minutes it became easy to breathe again and Crowley, seeming to sense Aziraphale’s marginally improved mood, put his hand on Aziraphale’s knee lightly.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley’s hands, his long fingers not marred but touched by the wrinkles of time, his bony knuckles and slender shape. He touched the back of Crowley’s hand softly, reveling in the different skin colour, the slight olive of Crowley against his reddish undertone. He began to feel like himself again and sighed as his thoughts finally formed more reliable words and opinions. 

"I am astounded that I was ever so stupid as to follow them," Aziraphale admitted. 

Crowley shook his head. "You weren't. You were surviving."

Aziraphale smiled at him, he was kind, always, but he hadn't understood the point. "We both were," Aziraphale agreed, "but you at least can be proud of your actions."

Crowley's eyebrows raised dramatically. "You think I'm proud? I've done more horrible than- I can't ever-" he stopped, swallowing heavily. "We were surviving, angel. You did what you needed to do to stay afloat. I'm glad you did."

"I'm glad you did too, I'm glad you fought where I didn't," Aziraphale whispered.

“You fought today. You were great,” he muttered.

“Was I?” Aziraphale asked. “I can’t seem to remember quite what I said now.”

“You, ah-” Crowley laughed, it was weak but it was a laugh. “You insulted them a fair bit, actually.”

“Oh, I suppose I did.”

Crowley swallowed and squeezed his knee. “It was clever,” he said. “Clever- clever lines.”

Aziraphale faced him. He’d heard the lot of it, of course he had. He’d heard Aziraphale admit his love. He hadn’t meant for that to happen. He watched, wondering if he should take it back or build on it or if they would just pretend it hadn’t happened. He definitely ought to apologise for it.

“You-” Crowley said, looking like he didn’t really want to be talking. “I’m sorry you- you shouldn’t-”

“It’s okay,” Aziraphale breathed, although it wasn’t really. But it would be.

"I know- I know we’re friends. Right?" Crowley looked at him nervously. "That’s okay now, friends?" He asked.

Aziraphale thought about those couples kissing in the park. Defeat slithered through him. Crowley had to ask if they were even friends, they were nowhere near kissing in the park. "Of course," he said gently. “I’m sorry I named you, I didn’t mean to draw their attention to you.”

“They don’t care about me,” Crowley said absently. He sighed sharply and pulled his hand back from Aziraphale's knee, wrapping it around his own ankle as he sat in his odd and curled position. He looked at his lap, avoiding Aziraphale's eyes entirely. "And, look, I know you don’t like to talk about this," he said quickly, apologetically, "so I’m sorry, but I think I know that you feel more than friends, and that’s- look." He sighed heavily and shook his head. 

Aziraphale waited a moment, terrified. Of course Crowley knew, Crowley had always seemed to know more than Aziraphale did. He had been a fool, an egotist to think he had been subtle, even more so to imagine he may be reciprocated.

But he  _ had _ started to imagine so. 

And Crowley  _ had _ kissed him.

"I won’t-" Crowley stammered. "Tell me if you want to talk about this some time because I do want to."

"You already know?" Aziraphale asked miserably.

Crowley let out a kind of strangled groan. "I mean I don’t know, but I think. Angel, let’s stop, let’s stop," he entreated. He still avoided Aziraphale's eyes expertly. "I’m sorry they took that from you before you wanted to say it, I’ll forget it, okay?"

Aziraphale mulled on that as Crowley's leg began to tap with growing impatience. 

If Crowley already knew all that, then there was no harm in saying it. Not that he was brave enough to say it now, but it was somewhat nice to know that there was no harm in it. He would like to know what Crowley felt, even though it was more than likely not the same. Perhaps they could come to an agreement that suited them, Aziraphale could love Crowley and Crowley could like Aziraphale, could be his friend, maybe release in his lust in him or just keep going as they were. Maybe Aziraphale would be able to say it to him one day, how he was meant to, how he wanted to. 

It would be quite an arrangement, but their last one had been unique as well.

There was likely little harm in asking.

"You have me at something of a disadvantage, Crowley. I have no idea how you might feel," Aziraphale whispered.

"No idea?" Crowley asked blearily.   
  


Aziraphale nodded. "Tell me," he said. It would change very little, Crowley's response. Or if it did change anything, at least it would be an honest change. Aziraphale loved him and they both knew it. Crowley felt however he felt and Aziraphale didn't really mind. So long as Crowley stuck around, stayed nearby, Aziraphale didn't mind.    
  


"You really want me to say it?" Crowley asked.   
  


Aziraphale nodded again.

Crowley twitched. Then, "I love you," he said quickly, gently.

Aziraphale frowned for a moment, trying to figure out what the trick was, what game was being played on him, what cruelty hid within those words.

"The- the real in love kind of love," Crowley continued at a murmur. "That true stuff."

Aziraphale was confused. He shut his eyes to think. 

"I’m-" Crowley stammered. "Shit."

Aziraphale thought hard. Crowley didn't lie to him, not in this blatant way, not to a direct question. He would dodge and distract but not often lie. 

Aziraphale wanted to trust so badly. And if he were to trust anyone it would have to be Crowley. Crowley who gave his opinion freely, who disagreed and fought him outright rather than smirk and keep secrets. He had proven himself.

Aziraphale decided to trust. And as he made that decision he realised Crowley loved him, because if he trusted Crowley's words then it must be true and any reasons Aziraphale had for it to be a lie must be misplaced. 

"Fuck. Fuck fuck," Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale opened his eyes to see Crowley in the middle of an enormous sigh, beginning to climb out of the couch.

"Would you stop trying to get away from me, dear?" Aziraphale snapped. He was a little overwhelmed by it all.

Crowley froze absurdly, one leg on the ground, the other still bent on a cushion. "I’m only- I just- I don’t- I’m just trying to-" he said.

Aziraphale understood. "I’ve never wanted to be without you," he refuted.

Crowley sighed and began to lower himself back onto the couch. "Angel-" he said tiredly.

"Crowley," Aziraphale interrupted. "I love you, dear."

Well that certainly felt nice. There was a thrill in it, a freedom, a rebellion. And it was true, which rang through Aziraphale with joy. To be true was so rare for him, he was honoured to share it with Crowley.

Crowley shut his eyes and rubbed them hard. "Stop it," he ordered.

"Why?"   
  
"You’re going too fast, you’ll regret it tomorrow.”

The air flew out of Aziraphale's lungs as a few more puzzle pieces fit together. "Have you been holding back for me?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley glared at him, a touch of madness in his eyes. "Of course," he snapped.

Aziraphale leaned forwards, reaching to touch him, to kiss him. "My darling-"

Crowley scrambled out of the seat and onto the arm of the couch, sufficiently out of reach. "We need to stop talking about this. I won’t leave because-" he glanced at the door. "But we need to stop."

Aziraphale stopped. Crowley was scared, it was an expression Aziraphale could recognise easily these days. "If you insist," he agreed slowly.

Crowley nodded jerkily. "I do, I do insist."

That was fine, really. Time was relative and if Crowley wanted some then Aziraphale had much to give. He would give Crowley about anything. "Very well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there it is! i love you babey <3


	8. Chapter 8

So Aziraphale waited.

Crowley stayed in the shop, which was the better option overall, although his persistent staring was slightly off putting. He put his glasses on at least, so there was something interrupting his piercing yellow gaze. 

The day strolled along. Aziraphale thought about what he wanted to do, he thought a lot. Crowley stared silently at him, bug eyed with his glasses on the couch.

Aziraphale put some music on and began to move about the shop, still thinking hard. He wiped down surfaces and alphabetised his collection of bibles by content, which took some doing because the content was near identical in each, it was down to the first error in the book that chose its place on the shelf.

Aziraphale didn't notice until it was obvious, but he began an absent minded gavotte. He was very deep in thought and Crowley had become so normal and nonthreatening a presence that he simply forgot he had company. It was subtle, but recognisable. Aziraphale stepped and brought his feet together, bending his knees slightly, then standing again. He strolled a wide and careful arc through the room, the passage of it taking almost a minute as he moved languidly through the dance. He poked his leg out and turned on the spot slowly, with a control of limb a ballet dancer would struggle to achieve. 

The he saw Crowley's glasses and dropped his leg immediately, losing the form of the dance entirely. He felt hot, almost made dizzy by the speed of his embarrassment. 

"Ah," Aziraphale said awkwardly into the silence. The music turned off and he hurried to a dark corner of bookshelves out of Crowley's sight. 

He busied himself looking for a book he knew was across the shop and grimaced. What a fool. The sort of fool one could easily fall out of love with. Perhaps he should rethink things.

"Angel," Crowley's soft voice reached out to him. Aziraphale let out a shaky breath and turned to find Crowley leaning against the end of the shelving, looking at him. 

Crowley reached his hand out to Aziraphale. Aziraphale's heart thudded but he went, he shuffled forward and placed his hand in Crowley's. Let him do what he would. 

Crowley pulled him in an arc, keeping his arm extended and forcing Aziraphale to walk a relatively long route around him. Then, as Aziraphale was back in the light of the shop, Crowley stepped forward and raised his arm, twisted his hold in such a way that it nearly tripped Aziraphale to keep holding his hand. 

Then suddenly, in a move he didn't fully understand, Aziraphale was turning slowly on the spot, being spun by Crowley. 

The music started up again as they walked, utterly aimless through the shop and Crowley occasionally spun him. It wasn't a gavotte, and Crowley wasn't dancing (a gift really, Aziraphale had seen him dance a few times and while it was endearing, it wasn't pretty) he was just walking. They got better at it, then got a bit too emboldened and Aziraphale tripped as he spun. They stumbled and began to laugh. 

Crowley returned to the couch, but he was no longer silent. He pulled his phone out and did whatever one does on a phone, occasionally calling out inane questions. Aziraphale did his best to answer, but most of the time he was guessing. 

Night fell. Aziraphale pretended to read a book while Crowley lay on the roof insisting he wasn't tired, he'd slept earlier, he just needed to relax a minute. Aziraphale’s suggestion that Crowley leave the shop and find some time and space of his own was met with derisive silence. Crowley didn't sleep up there in the end, just rolled around a bit and made Aziraphale fret about his ceiling rose's well being.

Aziraphale stared at the pages and turned them every few minutes, and thought about how he could better convince Crowley of his love. 

The sun rose and Aziraphale enjoyed putting together a spectacular coffee, the type Crowley actually liked. 

They sat under the sunroof (which worked despite there being a bedroom above it) and drank together as they disagreed on when the printing press had been invented. 

Finally Aziraphale's mental clock told him it was time. Crowley had finished making a point about squid ink that couldn't be real about a minute ago and Aziraphale had let things fall to silence so that it would be easier to change the topic. 

And he did. 

"It’s tomorrow," Aziraphale pointed out.

"Can’t be," Crowley said widely. "It’s always today. Tomorrow’s one of them things you can never touch, it's-"

"Shut up," Aziraphale suggested. 

Crowley moved like Aziraphale had spat on him, which Aziraphale thought was a bit of an overreaction. "Well that was just plain rude," Crowley said, taking a pompous drink of coffee. 

Aziraphale raised his eyebrow, waiting for him to shush. Crowley put his coffee down and waved a hand, inviting Aziraphale. “I have reluctantly waited twenty four hours out of respect for you, but now I will speak,” Aziraphale said. 

Neither of them moved in any particular fashion, but the mood shifted regardless.

Aziraphale swiftly found himself floundering. He knew where he wanted to end up, but he briefly couldn’t figure out how to get there. “Oh gosh, I had prepared thoughts and everything,” he muttered. 

Crowley stared at him seriously for a moment, then he smiled, not interrupting, just encouraging. The smile was weak but kind.

Emboldened, Aziraphale began. “I love you and I would like you to stop restraining yourself for my benefit,” he said bravely. 

Crowley smile grew smaller and his eyebrows furrowed into a concerned frown. 

“It’s considerate,” Aziraphale allowed, responding to the question he had imagined Crowley might ask. “And I acknowledge that it was once necessary, but it isn’t any more.”

Crowley sat back, one arm flung over the back of his chair in a stretch that made Aziraphale wince. He stared at Aziraphale, taking him seriously. Aziraphale appreciated it, Crowley was actually listening, actually respecting him. That had proved difficult to come by in his long life.

Aziraphale quickly dried his palms on his knees. “So, I would like to kiss you,” he said, like it was more a contract agreement than an admission of love. “In general I mean,” he amended. “Also now, of course, but in general as well.”

Crowley was very quiet. Time ticked by in its usual fashion. 

It was quite the tableau, the two of them. Coffee steadily cooling as neither moved a muscle to quite an inhuman degree. Outwardly Aziraphale was still. Inwardly, Aziraphale accepted defeat a few times, then forced a swell of courage against each. He ended up sitting there quietly, mostly just waiting to see what Crowley would say.

Crowley leaned onto his knees, peering at Aziraphale warily. “I’m probably not going to stop holding back, angel,” he said. 

Aziraphale nodded once, but he didn’t understand. “Why not?” He asked, hearing the somewhat pitiful twang in his voice. 

Crowley’s eyebrows pinched in sadly, but he smiled with some fondness. “It’s all I know how to do,” he said so softly.

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath. His gaze lowered, trailing down Crowley’s form, his stressed eyebrows, the wobble in his lips, the pulse in his neck, his absurd perch on the chair.

“Um,” Crowley muttered, “I’m happy for you to take us forwards, though.”

Aziraphale looked up quickly, having spent an entire two seconds growing distracted wondering again if Crowley’s feet were feet or shoes. It was a beautiful scale regardless. “You are?”   
  


Crowley nodded and leaned further forwards, giving Aziraphale a greater understanding of the phrase on the edge of your seat. “As long as it’s what you want, yeah. Pick your pace, pick all of it, whatever you want,” he said seriously.

Aziraphale sighed. “I only want it if you do too,” he entreated.

“I will, I do. Whatever it is, I’m- I’m yours-” He groaned in a deep, crunchy kind of way, dipping his head to run his hands through his hair in exasperation or exhaustion.

Aziraphale would not treat his chair with the flagrant disregard that Crowley was and so he pulled his forward with him, moving to sit close before him. Crowley looked up, his hands clasped around the back of his own neck desperately. Aziraphale touched Crowley’s knee, feeling the coarse denim. “Will you tell me some of what you hope for at least?” He asked.

Crowley opened his mouth but didn’t speak, instead his body rolled like a wave pulsed through him, pushing him towards Aziraphale. “No,” he gasped. His hand fell from his neck, hitting Aziraphale’s wrist solidly and holding on for dear life. “Not yet, at least, not until-” he stopped, another pulse running through him, his mouth clamping shut fiercely. 

“Okay,” Aziraphale agreed quickly. He turned his hand over and tangled his fingers with Crowley’s. He reached out with his other, catching the back of Crowley's head and angling him to meet his eyes. In this close way his glasses did near nothing to hide his pain, his expression near torturous. Aziraphale would simply not let that remain. One last thing first. “Do tell me if I do something you don’t like,” Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley let out one weak laugh. “Yeah, no problem,” he said. 

Aziraphale pulled him close and kissed his cheek. “My dearest. I love you,” he said. 

Crowley shook for a moment, then he relaxed all at once. He leant into the curve of Aziraphale’s neck heavily, just breathing. Aziraphale held him quietly, enjoying the scent of smoke and Burberry perfume.

“I love you too,” Crowley said after some time had passed. 

Aziraphale smiled. “It fills me with joy to hear you say so,” he said.

So Aziraphale took the lead. 

Their days and nights were much the same as ever, the twilight hours too for that matter. 

They went out for long lunches that were entirely the same as before except for a question Aziraphale would pose around the third course, a mutter of, “are you enjoying yourself?”

Crowley’s response the first time had been a long silence, then finally a soft, “yes,” reached across the table. Aziraphale asked it more often, each time the answer coming faster, more naturally being tacked onto their flow of conversation. And each time it was in the positive.

Perhaps a week later and the sun was rising. They’d stayed the night together, drinking slowly and warmly though the darkness. Crowley had not left Aziraphale’s company yet, not for more than a few minutes to duck out to a shop on the street but their conversation had not faltered, they always found ways to talk. Neither were drunk after the long night, but they also weren’t sober. As the lights of the new day filtered into the shop, Aziraphale leaned across the small distance left between them and gently kissed Crowley’s lips. He leaned back soon, leaving the kiss a pleasant moment, and whispered, “welcome to another day.” He followed it up with a quick, “I think I’ll open today, would you pick up some bagels?” Because Crowley really looked far too shocked for words. 

Crowley brought the bagels back and Aziraphale gave him a quick peck on the cheek in thank you. Crowley busied himself in the far end of the shop with a blush Aziraphale wouldn’t have noticed except that he was so full of adoration he just had to study his love through the distance.

The days passed calmly. Aziraphale did a round of restorations, some of his books now old enough to need ongoing attention. He went to his bird watching group, dropped off this time by Crowley who insisted he had business nearby. Crowley waited for him to be done, standing suavely by the Bentley as Aziraphale extricated himself from Roger’s apologies. 

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s hand in greeting, flustering them both enough that neither spoke for ten minutes. Then Aziraphale remembered that he was in the lead. A brief exchange followed as Aziraphale asked how many hands one needs to drive, then did not believe Crowley’s response of, “what’s that? Oh, none, none. Steering wheel’s just for show.”

Aziraphale generously took him at half his word and held one of his hands, reminding him to keep his eyes on the road. He kissed his knuckles when the car was still and noted with amusement that they were really quite unlucky with the lights that afternoon, they hit nearly every red. 

A second week passed. Crowley grew accustomed to being kissed when he returned with food. Aziraphale was on the phone one morning, a few days into the second week, and was too polite to interrupt the call when Crowley slipped through the door with a smoothie so he just thanked him with a smile. Crowley stood quietly at his side as he finished the call, not in any pointed way, in fact seeming so absently that Aziraphale didn’t feel at all hurried. He hung the phone up and turned to thank Crowley, only to find himself interrupted with quite the passionate kiss. 

Crowley now drove exclusively one handed, his spare reaching for Aziraphale as soon as they set off. They kissed with every dawn even though Crowley had not slept the night. One memorable morning had Crowley bounding across the shop at first light to wish Aziraphale a good morning. They had kissed and laughed and planned the day. 

It seemed Crowley wouldn’t cross any lines for the first time, but all Aziraphale had to do was set up a pleasant pattern, and Crowley would build on it. 

Aziraphale began to want to see what building Crowley would do when he truly let loose.

Crowley tried to sleep at the end of the second week. He slithered around the couch impossibly for an hour, endlessly uncomfortable and twisted. The sight of it was exhausting. He finally announced that he would go upstairs and give the bed a go, much to Aziraphale's relief.

Aziraphale had been in the middle of cleaning his tea sets and offered to follow shortly, once he was done.

He saw Crowley flick his wrist once he was up the stairs, changing instantaneously into his pajamas - Aziraphale wondered if Crowley had ever enjoyed getting undressed the human way - and fling himself into the bed dramatically. 

Aziraphale let his angel eye relax, keeping a vague focus on Crowley but barely watching. He cleaned his teacups one by one, then the teapots (a different one for each brew of tea he favoured, of course) which took some time. It was pleasant, slow work. 

Crowley rolled over after an hour, his hand dangling off the edge of the bed. Aziraphale paused his work and looked again, zeroing his attention in on Crowley. 

The demon's hand disappeared into the covers and he rolled again. 

Aziraphale began to put the teapot away, preparing to leave the work for later. Crowley's interrupted sleep took a priority for him. 

As he was drying his hands and walking towards the stairs, Crowley's legs slipped off the bed, sitting flat on the ground. Not in a sleepy way. Aziraphale slowed, his view of the stairs blurred as he watched Crowley.

Then Crowley stood and left the room, appearing at the top of the stairs. 

"What's wrong?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged and clicked his fingers, returning to his tight jeans and low cut shirt. "Just can't sleep, I'll try some other time," he muttered. He walked down the stairs, skirting around Aziraphale enough that he would feel awkward reaching out to touch him. "There was wine left, yeah?" He asked as he beelined directly for the wine. 

Aziraphale responded in a reluctant affirmative and, after one last curious glance at the bed, he joined Crowley for a glass.


	9. Chapter 9

Crowley was clearly tired. He yawned and grumbled and was more irritable. He was also physical, which left Aziraphale torn between wanting Crowley to get his rest and cheer up, or encouraging this vaguely spider-like limpet behaviour. Aziraphale barely had to take his hand and Crowley would crowd him and kiss his jaw warmly. It was all very close and nice.

He hoped it would last after Crowley's nap, but after a second aborted attempt at sleep two days later Aziraphale was willing to sacrifice the gentle kisses if it got the haggard look out of Crowley's eyes. 

Crowley suggested carefully one afternoon that perhaps Aziraphale could leave the bookshop, close up, run from Heaven with him. 

Aziraphale had to be very intentional in his response, very considered. “No,” he had said. “No, I made this. They can’t take it.”

Aziraphale thought about it for the entire night after he responded. Crowley had been lovely, of course. He had apologised for the idea and promised not to bring it up again. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he liked that very much. 

He was having to spend a lot of time very painstakingly going through his thoughts and feelings to identify what he actually wanted, rather than just reacting in the easiest way. He changed his answer the next day, after their gentle morning kiss. “If you ask me to leave, if you demand it, I will. But know what you ask.”

“I won’t ask it, I won’t, I won’t.”

They let the matter drop. Crowley insulted the coffee they shared and Aziraphale told him to buy better if he was going to be so unpleasant. He did so and on his return sat on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair as he sipped his whipped cream, peppermint smelling atrocity. 

"What's stopping your sleeping?" Aziraphale asked as they strolled through the park that afternoon.

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets. “Normal stuff,” he said in a tone that was a few cranks away from casual.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrow. “I don't sleep,” he pointed out. “I'm afraid you'll have to explain what normal stuff is.”

Aziraphale glimpsed a moment of yellow as Crowley side eyed him from behind his glasses. It was gone quickly as Crowley returned his gaze to the path they trekked. “Right,” he acknowledged. “Just, you know, thinking thoughts and planning and so on.”

Aziraphale nodded, sure that in true Crowley form that would be honest, but lacking in difficult details. “Have you tried just not thinking for a bit? See if you fall asleep then?” Aziraphale suggested. 

Crowley took an uneven step, more so than his usual, and dipped his body like a bad dance. “Oh- oh, there's an idea!” He said with deep sarcasm. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and scowled. “Wish I'd thought of that!”

He had sped up in his performance, but Aziraphale did not rush to meet him. “Not useful, then?” Aziraphale asked quietly. Crowley waited impatiently a few meters ahead, shifting his weight from foot to foot as Aziraphale reached him. Aziraphale wasn’t embarrassed, exactly, just disappointed in himself for the bad suggestion. 

“Is that something you can do?” Crowley asked as he began to walk in time again. “Just turn it off when it's inconvenient- oh, well,” he interrupted himself, sounding like he was speaking more to himself than to Aziraphale. “I suppose you can, can't you? After a fashion.”

“I imagine you’re right,” Aziraphale whispered, although Crowley didn’t stop talking for a moment. Aziraphale was quite sure he hadn’t been heard.

“Of course,” Crowley said, growing louder. There was an odd tenderness in his voice, deep beneath the frustrated hiss. “Your skills are more in lying to yourself than in not panicking, because you certainly panicked all that time, just didn't enjoy anything ei-” he stopped.

Aziraphale went to speak, to change the topic, to crack a joke and make it all kinder. His throat closed on him. He swallowed loudly, still walking without a moment’s falter.

He watched the ground and closed his extra eyes. He could see Crowley glance at him from the corner of his human eyes, the ones he couldn’t close subtly. Crowley crossed his arms tightly.

“Well,” Aziraphale admitted, “you’re entirely right, of course.”

Crowley sighed. “Don’t say that.”

“You are,” Aziraphale stressed, “and you have every right to be cross with me.”

Crowley stopped walking, so Aziraphale followed suit a moment later. Crowley’s arms were still crossed, the fabric bunching unflatteringly. “I don't and I'm not,” he said. “I’m tired, I shouldn't growl at you for it, it's hardly your fault.”

Aziraphale filled with compassion. Of course he was tired. He had been close to horrible all week, he had snapped at strangers and insulted long dead people that Aziraphale knew he was fond of, and just been generally a bit foul. Much of it a lie, or at least an exaggeration of his true opinion. He smiled gently and stepped closer to Crowley. “It’s not me?” He asked.

Crowley’s frown twitched miserably. “No, it's not,” he said quickly. Then, slower and with more certainty, “it's not.”

Aziraphale touched his elbow, pulling lightly at his arm to encourage him to relax his tight stance. It worked a little, he still stood wound like clockwork, but at least the stitching in his jacket wasn’t screaming. “Could I help, then?” Aziraphale offered.

Crowley’s arms relaxed even more. “What?” He breathed in disbelief.

“Perhaps I could distract your mind, let you rest,” Aziraphale suggested. “I could read a book to you, something you don’t like so you won’t stay up for it.” He thought for a moment, then found a perfect example, something lighthearted enough to land as a joke, but with a reminder of their long friendship. “Hamlet, perhaps?”

Crowley’s arms dropped, his form going slack so quickly Aziraphale entertained himself that he may just hit the ground like a bag of potatoes. He did not, though, he stood there and craned his neck miserably. “I'm sorry, I was cruel just then,” Crowley whispered.

“It's okay,” Aziraphale said.

“No,” Crowley muttered, swaying away from him. “No no no, it's not. You can’t just forgive me.”

Aziraphale caught his elbow again, keeping him close and standing. “But I do, I forgive you,” he said. 

“Don't-” Crowley gasped. He ran a hand through his hair, knocking his glasses. Aziraphale caught a glimpse of the deep bags under his eyes, the bright fear of his iris. His forgiveness solidified confidently. “Angel-”

“Dear, you need to rest,” Aziraphale interrupted. “Of course you're irritable.”

Crowley ignored him. “I'm not cross with you for it, I meant what I said. I'm glad you protected yourself, that matters so much more than me.”

Aziraphale let out a steadying breath. “Crowley, it was mean, yes, but not foundless. And I forgive you. Now may I take you home and try to help you sleep?”

They stood for another few seconds, then Crowley sadly nodded. “Yeah, take me home,” he muttered.

The drive was terrifying, but they made it home safely. A customer was waiting hopefully at the door for the shop to open and Aziraphale’s apology came easily as he succinctly explained that he simply had better things to do than bother to open today.

Crowley bitched and moaned his way up the stairs, interrupted by the occasional mutter of thanks. Aziraphale picked up a collected works of Shakespeare he kept handy on the way and made his way up the stairs with Crowley.

It occurred to him again as they climbed that Crowley likely had never taken his clothes off in the human way, and although that was something Aziraphale wanted to do it was hardly the day for it. Crowley snapped his fingers and changed into his pajamas without an objection from Aziraphale. 

Crowley slipped into bed easily and waited as Aziraphale worked his shoes, jacket, and vest off. Aziraphale sat in the bed, his legs long and straight before him as he fluffed a few pillows to support his back. 

Crowley shifted minutely closer, but did not reach out to him. 

Aziraphale opened the book and began flipping through to find Hamlet. “Are you still thinking about your comment that I lie to myself?” Aziraphale asked ungraciously. 

Crowley’s mouth opened slightly, then closed as he swallowed. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. 

“Well,’ Aziraphale snapped, continuing with his no-bullshit tone. He found Hamlet and rested the book open in his lap. He put one hand on Crowley’s head and ran his fingers through his hair gently. “If it’s still bothering you in the morning we can discuss it again, but for now let it go from your mind.”

Crowley sighed and nodded, still watching him. 

“Now,” Aziraphale said, making his voice soft and low. “We start with Francisco at his post, joined by Bernardo. Bernardo speaks first.  _ Who’s there?” _

Crowley closed his eyes and pulled in, an arm wrapping warmly over Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale kept reciting, affecting slightly different voices as he needed to. A small smile began to grow on Crowley’s face. 

_ “Horatio says ‘tis but our fantasy, and will not let belief take hold of him…” _

Aziraphale rather mindlessly read the play out loud, his voice barely above a whisper, as Crowley slept. He vaguely hoped that his continued voice and story would have an impact on Crowley’s unconscious mind and would pull any dreams he may have into a world of fantasy.

The sun began to set as Aziraphale’s hopes were shot.

Crowley shifted, pulling himself tight to Aziraphale’s side. His legs curled up and his head tipped against Aziraphale’s waist. He began to shiver. 

Aziraphale spoke up a tad, hoping to interrupt Crowley’s descent.  _ “Love! His affections do not that way tend; nor what he spake, though it lack’d form-” _

Crowley spoke, interrupting him. “Where-” he muttered.

Aziraphale pulled Crowley into him, rubbing his thumb against the bone of his shoulder.  _ “Lack’d form a little,” _ he continued,  _ “was not like madness. There’s something in his soul-” _

Crowley gasped loudly, a mangled word within it. Aziraphale stopped reading and focused on holding him. “Crowley, it’s okay,” he whispered. 

Crowley shuddered, the movement so strong Aziraphale couldn’t believe he slept still. He could head Crowley’s teeth grinding. “Where the Heaven are you, you idiot?” Crowley hissed, the words low and slow and delicate.

Aziraphale waved his hand and the collected works of Shakespeare picked itself up and deposited itself on the bedside table, out of the way. “Right here, dear,” Aziraphale murmured, rolling over a bit so Crowley could find his body more easily.

Crowley sobbed, then his body went slack and he sobbed harder. Aziraphale was utterly overwhelmed, he had never witnessed this level of misery from Crowley, not in such a vulnerable, honest way. The closest was the night Aziraphale had lit the candles, but even then he’d held himself back, kept it private, barely letting Aziraphale be a part of his comfort, stopping as soon as the lights returned and he was observed. 

“I can’t find you!” Crowley said, the words crystal clear for once. The tone of it, the clarity, the crackled shout, all of it filled Aziraphale with a quiet horror as he saw how deep into this dream Crowley was. “Aziraphale, for- eugh.” 

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s shoulders, giving up and shaking him. “Wake up, dear,” he said. 

He shook Crowley once, then stopped, watching him closely. Crowley’s head lolled. “You’ve gone,” he whispered. His body began to tighten again, curling into a tight ball. “Somebody killed my best friend.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said harshly, shaking Crowley far harder than was polite. 

Crowley’s eyes snapped open, immediately scared. Aziraphale was relieved despite the sheer panic that was in his expression. Crowley was already curled in a ball, but as he became aware he became smaller, his muscles quivering as he gasped. “Oh, fuck,” he spat.

Aziraphale began to pull at him, he was barely a human form now, he was just a quivering pile of frightened demon. Crowley came easily, rolling in the bed towards Aziraphale and melting to form a puddle at Aziraphale’s knees. Aziraphale just kept him close, encouraged the nearness, and Crowley responded like he needed to touch Aziraphale to breathe.

Aziraphale near doubled over, somewhat sitting, somewhat kneeling on the bed as he curled around Crowley’s form, holding Crowley to him. “Just a nightmare,” he muttered. 

Crowley began to shake. Then he began to cry, it was unmistakable. 

“Darling, just a nightmare, it was,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Memory,” Crowley said wetly. 

“Of course, love, oh,” Aziraphale sighed. He kissed Crowley gently where he could, his lips landing just above the top of his ear. “Oh, of course.”

Crowley continued to shake, gasping to catch his breath. 

“But it’s over,” Aziraphale continued quietly, “the dream’s over, the memory is passed.”

Crowley gripped him, his hands lost in the fabric of his trousers. “Must be,” he said quietly.

Aziraphale slipped a hand under Crowley’s waist, pulling him up to sitting. Crowley moved easily, a few joints bending more than they ought, but without objection. Crowley leaned on him heavily, tipping Aziraphale back against the headboard. Crowley’s head nestled against Aziraphale’s shoulder warmly, his legs firmly either side of Aziraphale’s thighs. 

Aziraphale held Crowley’s head, his thumb working gently against the nape of his neck, rubbing at the tension in him. The sun set and the sky began to darken.

“Would you like to discuss it?” Aziraphale offered. 

Crowley shook his head. 

Crowley’s hands crawled up Aziraphale’s chest, moving with a hesitation that saddened Aziraphale. Crowley tangled his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair and leaned back, swaying somewhat dramatically in his lap. Aziraphale caught him, trying to hold him steady. Their eyes met as Crowley’s grip tightened, holding Aziraphale solidly in place, staring at each other with utter seriousness. 

To Aziraphale’s alarm the longer he was held the more upset Crowley became. The sadness in his eyes grew deeper and welled over, and he stared, he stared hard, his pupils going from terror thin to an encompassing black of horror.

“You’ve got me safe, dear,” Aziraphale said, “you do.”

Crowley’s arms shivered. “Yesss,” he breathed. 

Aziraphale pulled at Crowley’s hips, not moving him but intimating a direction. Crowley took the hint and leaned in, pressing his forehead to Aziraphale’s. Despite how close they were Crowley maintained eye contact and kept looking at Aziraphale, not blinking, not hesitating, just taking him in. 

“Safe and well,” Aziraphale whispered. 

Crowley made an unbelievable noise deep in his throat, like a tearing or a death. He pulled Aziraphale in and kissed him full on the lips. 

Aziraphale kissed him back through his worry, relieved that his instinct to kiss Crowley was reciprocated, that they both found this kind of nearness calming. It was passionate and sad in a way Aziraphale hadn’t thought kisses could be. But if felt more like love than anything else.

Aziraphale forced a moment of focus and miracled the bed short so that he could slip off easily. He slipped one hand under Crowley’s leg, holding his thigh tightly, and his other pulling his hips in close. The movement broke their kiss and instead of keeping it going Crowley buried his face to Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

He stood and balanced Crowley with the strength of someone who found such a task utterly unchallenging. Crowley whimpered, his legs wrapping around Aziraphale’s waist.

“What're you doing?” Crowley asked into Aziraphale’s neck. 

“Taking you to the shop so you can see it's okay too,” Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley tightened his legs, letting himself be held and carried. Aziraphale walked the floor carefully but without difficulty. The hardest part was taking correct steps when Crowley’s lips were at his neck, but he wasn’t meaning to be a distraction so Aziraphale kept his focus. He shuffled his hold on Crowley once, then flung him onto the couch. 

“There we are,” he said smugly as he sat beside Crowley. He waved a hand at the shop as if to prove it was fine. Which it was, of course. No fire. 

Crowley glanced around quickly, more obedient than curious, and went right back to looking at Aziraphale. A moment later found Aziraphale pushed against the arm of the couch gently with Crowley climbing back onto his lap. 

Aziraphale laughed, raising his hand to pat Crowley’s head fondly. “Okay, dear,” he invited. Aziraphale swung one leg onto the couch, letting Crowley fall into place atop him, his head buried in the crook of his neck. Crowley shuffled down slightly and fit perfectly along his body, half sitting half laying on his side against the back of the couch and tangling in among Aziraphale’s limbs.

“I'm still tired,” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale smiled, he could feel Crowley’s breath on his neck. He pulled Crowley’s waist closer, making him lay somewhat on him. He wanted the weight. 

“Then you should sleep,” Aziraphale suggested. 

Crowley breathed quietly for a few seconds, then whispered, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

Aziraphale smiled. He turned his head and kissed Crowley’s forehead, just along his hairline. “And I'm sorry I lit candles in the shop that time. But it's all okay in the end.”

One of Crowley’s hands had landed on top of Aziraphale’s chest and he now began to fiddle with one of Aziraphale’s shirt’s buttons. Not undoing it, just playing with it. Crowley let out a breath that Aziraphale felt as much as he heard. It tingled a little. “If you want to yell at me or tell me off or something you can,” Crowley whispered. 

Aziraphale thought about how to respond for a second. He wanted to simply let loose his opinion on the unfair treatment Crowley had grown used to, but the moment was too soft for that. He sighed. “I think you punish yourself plenty well all on your own, my darling. I'll just forgive you,” he said. 

Crowley was quiet for a while. He stopped playing with Aziraphale’s button and his arm grew heavy. Then, “okay,” he agreed. 

“Good boy,” Aziraphale said, aware it would come across as condescending but deciding that he didn’t mind. 

Crowley chuckled and flicked his button with a lazy irritation, but didn’t fight the sentiment. 

A beautiful creature, this demon. Aziraphale had quite the view. He had thought so the first time he'd seen him. He had thought yes, of course, this is the hand of temptation. He never would have thought he would feel an empathy for Eve. A compassion, yes, he'd always felt a compassion for her, but empathy? To do a demon's bidding? But when Crowley bid it seemed so right, it seemed so good. It always had. 

What a relief to have accepted it. He had always assumed Eve would resent the snake that gave her knowledge, but he wondered now if she had remembered Crowley fondly, how Aziraphale did.

It was his wit, Aziraphale decided. More than anything else. Although his body was sensual and his eyes beautiful, his anger righteous and his kindness breathtaking. It was his wit that Aziraphale loved most. How it expressed itself in everything, his intelligence in human affairs, how up to date he kept. He moved so much faster than Aziraphale could manage, the clever thing. His humour, too, quick and cutting, occasionally too smart, too hurtful. But still a treasure. And his insight into the world, his recognition of his own moral compass and how those who had presented to him as absolutes were fallible and doubtable. The bravery to doubt must be born of wisdom, of wit. 

Even his reticence now was something Aziraphale admired, that he loved. Crowley was being careful, looking at everything, challenging the big picture and making it all shape together. 

Aziraphale wasn't doing that, not really. He was looking at the now, he knew how he felt, he trusted Crowley, so he was confident. But as he began to remember, things would fall apart. He had been so cruel to Crowley, so very dismissive and condescending. He remembered words he had thrown at the demon in Egypt, in Bethlehem, in Croatia. In London. And he remembered words that had been thrown back in kind, many of them horrible and judgmental.

Crowley's breathing was quieter, but he wasn't yet asleep. 

The bad was easy to recall. The good less so, it was tied up with guilt and fear for Aziraphale. But he found it, he found the good memories. In Greece, in Paris, in London. Everywhere, Aziraphale had been in love everywhere. In hindsight Crowley had been too, it was clear as anything.

"I’ve loved you with all my heart for ever so long," Aziraphale whispered. "I realised a century ago, but it’s been longer."

Crowley shifted his head. "I’m still awake, angel," he croaked.

Aziraphale smiled. "I know, kindness," he said. He tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling, quietly watching the lights glint off the S carved into the compass of his roof. "So much of our lives makes more sense with that hindsight. My misery at the flood was made sharper for disappointing you," he admitted 

Crowley made a quiet gurgling sound for a second, a negative tone to it. "You’ve never disappointed me," he said, his words muffled by Aziraphale's neck. 

"I have," Aziraphale refuted.

Crowley grumbled. "You really haven’t."

Aziraphale smirked and let it drop. He ran his hand through Crowley's hair fondly, keeping enough pressure up to ensure the demon stayed laying on him, that he wouldn’t grow uncertain and roll off.

"The sight of you in Paris," Aziraphale sighed, finishing a thought, a memory out loud. Crowley twitched in his arms. "What a day we shared. What a night I wish we could have shared."

Crowley leaned onto his arm, the one on Aziraphale’s chest. He shifted slightly and rested his chin on his wrist, looking at Aziraphale curiously. "We did spend the night together," he pointed out. 

"And it was pleasant, but…" It had just been another night of talk and drink. Aziraphale had wanted more then, that  _ outfit _ Crowley had worn, and he wanted more now.

Crowley's eyebrows raised. "But?"

Perhaps not the time for those thoughts, although the feeling of Crowley's legs tangled in with his made making an effort seem like the easiest thing in the world. 

"And in Greece, oh," Aziraphale said, changing the topic. "You just knew everyone, didn’t you? Such an exciting circle of artists. You made that decade wonderful for me, but it dimmed every time you went away and can you believe I didn’t notice?"

Crowley smiled. "I can believe it."

"I’ve noticed now," Aziraphale said. He ran a hand down Crowley's face, his knuckles lightly grazing his eyebrow, his cheek, his lips. That he could touch Crowley's lips was simply unbelievable.

"Alright, I get your point," Crowley said as his smile grew. 

"I'm not making a point in particular, I'm just- I'm just speaking," Aziraphale said.

Crowley inched forward, up Aziraphale's chest and towards him. His eyes weren't full yellow, but they weren't far off. "You know I don't need you to love me," Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale felt his heartbeat thicken, he was sure Crowley could too. "But I do," Aziraphale said. 

"I'm used to not being loved, angel, it's okay if you don't-"

"You aren't," Aziraphale interrupted.

Crowley let out a small breath, then pursed his lips. "I really am," he pressed.

"You can't be," Aziraphale said clearly. "You've been loved for the last few thousand years at least. You can't be used to something you haven't had for that long, it's been so long since you were unloved."

Crowley shut his eyes. "That's ridiculous," he said weakly.

Aziraphale would have none of it. "It's true, I know it," he said.

Crowley opened his eyes and met Aziraphale's gaze. "Well," he said with a tone that sounded more than a little unhinged. He grinned but Aziraphale saw his lip wobble a tad, so in an effort to assist his demon in saving face, he leant in and kissed him. This way he could feel that wobble and that was so much more tender. 

"Alright, then,” Crowley agreed simply, muttering the words against Aziraphale’s continued kiss.

Aziraphale ended the kiss softly, leaning back the centimeters he needed to respond. “Alright?” He repeated. 

Crowley grinned. “Yeah, whatever, that’s fine too,” he said. He kissed the shell of Aziraphale’s ear. “Cool. Groovy and funky.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said as he realised just how much Crowley was agreeing to. “Good.”

“Top notch,” Crowley continued as he left small, light kisses down Aziraphale’s neck and collar. “Ace. Blinky Bill.”

Aziraphale frowned, although he felt his treacherous smile return quickly. “Blinky Bill?” He asked. 

“Ach. It was some TV show Hastur put together,” Crowley muttered.

“Sounds bad.”

“He did such a shit job it was actually alright.”

Aziraphale began to laugh. Crowley rested on his chest and looked at him with a warm grin. Aziraphale decided that while he enjoyed laughing, he wanted to be kissing more. So he pulled Crowley in for one. 

It was easy, natural. Crowley kissed him without holding back at last and Aziraphale responded to it bodily. He pulled Crowley fully onto him, simply laying beneath him and kissing Crowley’s cheek and neck as Crowley chuckled and arranged his legs either side of Aziraphale’s hips. 

Crowley sat above him for a moment, looking down in utter fondness. Then, as Aziraphale was just finding words to put to his admiration, he leaned in and kissed Aziraphale’s lips gently. Aziraphale went to kiss him back eagerly but he dodged it, moving to trail soft kisses down Aziraphale’s cheek to his ear, then to his neck.

Aziraphale shivered beneath him. His hands did what they wanted, he had neither the presence nor inclination to stop them. He balled one fist full of silken fabric, tugging at it to pull Crowley in by his shirt, relishing how easily Crowley was encouraged. His other hand briefly flirted with Crowley’s sharp hip bone, fingers fluttering across the unbelievable thinness of him, to explore upwards, feeling the dip of his waist.

Crowley pressed a particularly dirty kiss to him, open mouthed and wet, his tongue dragging against the soft skin that joined Aziraphale’s jaw to his neck. Aziraphale gasped at it, a deathly quiet hum of appreciation sounding in the back of his throat. 

“Mm, sorry,” Crowley muttered, drawing away with a peck of his lips.

Aziraphale tightened his grip on Crowley’s shirt, holding him in place. “If I didn’t like it I’d’ve said something,” he murmured. Crowley’s shirt hiked up slightly with his pull and the hand on Crowley’s waist was suddenly touching exposed skin. 

Crowley hummed quietly again but did not return to kissing him. He wriggled in place briefly, slotting ideally into the dips and curves of Aziraphale’s body. He rested his head beside Aziraphale’s and pressed his lips to the patch of skin just below Aziraphale’s ear tenderly. 

Aziraphale smiled and ran his finger across the skin of Crowley’s waist lightly, enjoying the hint of vibrant life that simmered in him. Crowley chuckled near silently and shuffled closer again, one of his legs slipping between Aziraphale’s two. Aziraphale held him close and felt his heaviness, his body on him, and enjoyed it.

His finger found a patch on Crowley’s lower back, by his spine, that had a rougher texture. After a minute of gentle exploration (and a quick open eyeball in his palm to check) Aziraphale deduced that Crowley’s scales were out. Aziraphale flattened his hand to Crowley’s scales warmly and felt them, and loved them.

Crowley’s weight and breathing changed just enough to tell Aziraphale that he had fallen asleep at last. He glanced at Crowley fondly and muttered, “flirt,” with a smile, then looked up at the roof and revelled in the feeling his body gave him right now.

His enjoyment last a full day. The second day laying beneath Crowley was a bit more challenging to his patience as he only had one hand free with which to read a book. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one chapter left team!! it's close enough to done to post now but i wanna add some bits and write some bits up some more so it'll likely be a few days but yeah, we're definitely finishing this fic soon!


	10. Chapter 10

Crowley harrumphed. Aziraphale looked down at him, pleased to catch the very moment he opened his eyes. He looked around groggily, finally meeting Aziraphale’s gaze and stilling. 

Aziraphale smiled warmly and was rewarded with an easy smile in return. 

Barely a moment later and Crowley’s smile dropped. “Oh, shit,” he said casually. 

Aziraphale frowned. “What?” 

“Hang on,” Crowley suggested. He crawled up Aziraphale’s body unceremoniously and kissed him, pressing hard and confident against his lips. 

Crowley broke the kiss quickly. “I have been a mess!” He exclaimed.

“No, dear-”

“I have!” He interrupted. He rolled, falling off the couch with a thud. Aziraphale sat up quickly and looked down at him in alarm. “A right tit!” He said from the ground. 

Aziraphale smiled fondly at him, his hair was rumpled every which way and there was a free smile playing across his face that warmed Aziraphale mightily. Crowley grinned up at him and knelt quickly, kissing him as soon as he was at a height to do so. He pressed his body against the couch, his hips forcing Aziraphale’s thighs slightly wider.

Again, he broke the kiss soon. “But don’t you worry, from here on out your-” he stopped and frowned, taken by some new thought. “Wait, what am I?” He asked. 

“A right tit?” Aziraphale suggested unhelpfully.

Crowley’s green returned, wider than before. “No,” he said slowly, with great enjoyment. “I mean, romantic interest?” He nuzzled closer and kissed the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth. “Partner? Main squeeze?” He kissed Aziraphale’s ear. “Lover? Fighter? Politician?” He leaned away again an smirked. “Boo?”

“I don't-” Aziraphale floundered. “Which do you like?”

Crowley hummed for a moment, then he stood up in one fluid movement. He grabbed at the lapels of his jacket then frowned in confusion as he looked down to find he was still wearing pajamas. He clicked his fingers, his clothes shifting into his usual, and grabbed the lapels, tugging at them with confidence. “From here on out your sexy side dish will be-”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale admonished. Sexy side dish would not be his nomicle. 

Crowley grinned at him and ignored the interruption. “-will be back at full capacity! We're gonna go on the best dates, I'll take you places you've only ever dreamt about!”

Aziraphale sat back on the couch and smiled at him. “I don't dream, Crowley.”

Crowley pointed at him victoriously. “Well, you're going to after this ‘cause I’m gonna be so blessing good.”

Aziraphale expanded on his previous comment. “I don't see the appeal of being unconscious for so long.”

“It feels so good to wake up,” Crowley shouted at the roof. He slipped one knee onto the couch, right beside Aziraphale, his other still standing as he towered over him. “Everything comes together and makes sense after a sleep,” he muttered, his hair falling like a curtain around Aziraphale’s vision. 

Aziraphale made a vague noise of acknowledgement and battered his long hair aside. Crowley laughed and swung his standing leg to the other side of Aziraphale, landing solidly in his lap, straddling him with a grin. 

“Go on, what shall we do?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale moved him around to find his comfort. “We’re young!”

“We’re not young,” Aziraphale disagreed.

Crowley ignored him, although his tone became tinged with humour. “We’re handsome.”

“You are.”

“So we agree,” Crowley laughed, “we’re both handsome and young and in love.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, alright,” he allowed. 

Crowley stilled slightly, his sway slowing. “Wait, you hadn't said that yet,” he said. 

Aziraphale saw a moment of nervousness enter Crowley expression and decided that he wouldn’t let that last at all. “Oh, no, you’re right, I am completely in love with you,” he said quickly.

Crowley’s beautiful smile returned and he kissed Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale pulled him closer and kissed him back, responding to Crowley's eagerness in kind. Crowley's hands swiftly busied themselves in his hair, trailing through his curls indulgently. 

The kiss was cheerful, lighthearted and prevented from deepening by their ongoing smiles. Aziraphale began to feel Crowley's body again, sure that this kiss would pass soon and he wanted to be in place by then. Sure enough;

“We-ould eyea ‘lane,” Crowley said into Aziraphale’s mouth. The words were garbled but they were said so close to Aziraphale that he understood. We could fly a plane. Aziraphale pulled away to respond, one hand on Crowley's hip bone, the other resting gently against his collarbone, touching the longest locks of hair that fell from him. 

“How did they think of flight?” Aziraphale muttered. 

“I have no idea, it’s amazing.”

It was amazing. Aziraphale moved Crowley's hair aside and kissed his neck. “Yes,” he agreed.

“You'll fly a plane with me?” Crowley asked, sounding all kinds of surprised.

“No, I was agreeing that it’s impressive,” Aziraphale said. 

“Ah,” Crowley agreed. He smiled again but without his glasses Aziraphale could see the hint of sadness in it. “I feel like we’re not great at this,” Crowley muttered.

It had been a tangled path through a particularly dense wood, that was certainly true. “I can see your point,” Aziraphale allowed.

“But,” Crowley said with heavy meaning.

“But?”

“ _ But _ we’ve been together for so long already.”

Aziraphale hadn’t stopped touching Crowley, he was in his lap after all, but he returned to paying attention to it. He shifted his hand down and pressed his palm into Crowley’s thigh heavily and felt the muscle’s quiver, his pulse beneath. “We have,” he agreed.

Crowley shifted closer. “We’ll be together for much longer yet,” he muttered. 

Aziraphale met his eyes and let the truth of it flow through him in its entirety. 

“I like that promise,” Aziraphale agreed. He ran his hand behind Crowley's head, raking his fingers through his long hair generously.

“We’ll figure it out,” Crowley said, “we’ll be fine.”

Aziraphale kissed him. “Yes,” he whispered.

Crowley returned his kiss and the warmth of it, the love of it, the all of it about melted Aziraphale on the spot. 

The phone rang shrilly across the room, which pulled him unpleasantly back to the world. Crowley jumped and tensed in his arms, twisting to face the phone in alarm. 

Crowley returned to face him after glaring at the noise for a second, somewhat chagrined. Aziraphale smiled gently, telling himself to not poke fun at the skittish man. “Okay, dear?” Aziraphale asked, which tread the line of making fun but he said it so kindly he figured he’d get away with it. 

Crowley nodded and kissed him again as the phone continued to yell at them.

“I’ll just-” Aziraphale said, pushing Crowley meaningfully as he looked at the phone.

Crowley’s legs clamped tightly, keeping himself held on Aziraphale’s lap. “The machine’ll pick it up,” he disagreed. 

“I don’t have a machine,” Aziraphale reminded him, although he certainly already knew that. 

It was a very unpleasant sound, a phone ringing for so long.

Crowley’s eyebrows raised in a picture perfect innocence. “You don’t?” 

Aziraphale smiled indulgently then grabbed Crowley’s thighs. He stood, turned, and deposited the demon messily on the couch. “I’ll just make sure it’s nothing important,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley groaned miserably the whole time Aziraphale walked to the phone, but he didn’t stop him. 

Aziraphale picked the phone up and enjoyed the cut off of the ring. “Fell book shop,” he greeted.

A woman’s voice crackled down the line. “Zachary, it’s Nicole, just checking in.”

“Nicole!” Aziraphale said loudly, more for Crowley’s benefit than anyone else’s.

Crowley sat on the couch a few meters away, leaning on the armrest languidly. “Who?” He whispered loudly. 

Aziraphale glanced at the phone where Nicole’s soft voice could be heard continuing to talk. He decided to address Crowley instead. “Nicole, she’s married to Roger,” he explained, interrupting Nicole. She went quiet.

“ _ Fuck _ Roger,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale nearly told him off but was interrupted by a thought as he figured out a likely explanation for Nicole’s call. “Oh, what- what day is it?” He asked quickly. Crowley gave an exaggerated frown and shook his head. Aziraphale returned his attention to the phone. “What day is it?” He asked Nicole.

“It’s Thursday,” Nicole said. 

“Oh, I’ve missed bird watching!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He could see Crowley’s expression transitioning into a fondness and aggressively ignored it in favour of keeping up with this conversation. 

“Yes, that’s okay,” Nicole said, “I just wanted to check that everything is okay because you’ve missed two outings now.”

“Two!” Aziraphale shouted. He turned to Crowley who was laying over the arm of the couch like a dropped tea towel and smiling at him. “Crowley, I’ve missed two!”

Crowley gave him a sarcastic, pouting frown of exaggerated pity as Nicole said, “oh, Crowley’s there?” in an unconvincingly innocent tone.

“Yes,” Aziraphale confirmed for Nicole as he told Crowley off for his rudeness with his eyes. “Unfortunately, that's why I’ve been so turned around. You see Crowley and I have been talking and, well, and kissing, truth be told, and he’s now my- my- he’s my-” Aziraphale began to stammer, realising that Crowley’s question earlier about what he was now may be more pertinent than he’d allowed. He glanced at Crowley for help.

“Sexy side dish,’ Crowley supplied readily.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished. 

“He’s your Crowley?” Nicole asked through some laughter.

Aziraphale glared at Crowley then decided to own it. “Yes, he’s my Crowley now,” he said angrily. Then as Crowley’s eyes widened he softened and said, gently but loudly enough to be heard clearly, “my Crowley.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and blushed. “Fucking flirt,” he grumbled. 

Aziraphale thrilled at the win. “Don’t swear, dear, it doesn’t suit you,” he needled. 

“Liar.”

“Well, I’m very happy for you, Zachary,” Nicole unwittingly interrupted.

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley as he responded absently. “Oh, thank you, Nicole. I will try to be along next week, and I do apologise for my absence.”

“I’m excited to hear the story.”

A brief exchange of farewells later and Aziraphale hung up. The sound echoed oddly in the gently shop.

“How d’you manage it?” Crowley asked quietly, interrupting the stark silence that had descended.

“What’s that, dearheart?” Aziraphale asked as he strolled to rejoin Crowley on the couch. 

Crowley pulled his legs in, making room from him. “Last time someone interrupted us it was Gabriel, how do you not panic?” He watched Aziraphale closely as he sat, then muttered, “I did.”

“Oh, oh darling did you?” Aziraphale filled with sympathy. Crowley was such a brave creature. “I didn’t notice, I’m sorry.”

Crowley shrugged. “Don't be silly, apologising for that. S'nothing."

Crowley sat with his legs curled under him, leaning against the side of the couch, watching Aziraphale somewhat warily. Aziraphale wished to hold him, but he didn’t want to interrupt matters, so he just reached out and placed a hand on Crowley’s knee, running his thumb fondly against him. 

“Well, they’ve never called, but I’ve never been afraid of them coming by, that hits when they arrive, not before. I suppose I’ve always just kept the act up for that, though,” Aziraphale answered. “If they drop by then that’s fine because I’m just an angel alone in a book shop.”

Crowley’s position began to relax. He pulled one leg out and sat it on the ground, his calf resting against Aziraphale’s shins. He reached an arm along the back of the couch, fiddling with the shoulder seam of Aziraphale’s shirt. “You weren’t always alone,” he pointed out wryly.

“No, but you’re very good at slithering away,” Aziraphale agreed with a smile. He moved quickly and landed a kiss on Crowley’s knuckles, leaning back again soon. “Hell always watched you, how did you handle it?”   
  


Crowley moved to keep touching him, shifting closer. One knee tipped up to rest on Aziraphale’s lap as Crowley’s fingers began to comb through his curls. “Same, I guess,” he mused. “Keep the act. But I’m not now, I’m doing so much that’s obvious. So are you, angel.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale admitted, because it was certainly true. “Heaven scares the living daylights out of me, but I refuse to let it. I- I did enough for them.”

He looked at Crowley, wanting him now. He could see in Crowley's eyes that he wanted too, he could feel then desire across the short space between them. But they were busy and neither would interrupt such a conversation.

“They don’t get to have me anymore,” Aziraphale continued. “I get to have me, and I give myself to you. If they want to come here and intimidate me, well, they’ll have to try a little harder.” Crowley’s hand tightened at the back of his neck, less absentminded in its fondness and slightly more possessive, more comforting. Aziraphale leaned into it. “I’m rather more scared of Hell, truth be told. Heaven has a kind of self righteousness, there are lines they won’t cross. Not many, they’ve certainly gotten physical, but-”

“They hit you?” Crowley interrupted sharply.

Aziraphale let out a breath. “Once or twice.”

Crowley’s eyes pinched shut for a few seconds as he sighed heavily. When he opened them Aziraphale was forced breathless by the misery in his expression. But Crowley didn’t say anything, he just sat and ran his thumb against Aziraphale’s spine with gentleness.

“Has Hell been in touch at all?” Aziraphale finally asked. 

“No,” Crowley whispered. “But I haven’t been home much to check.”

“If you’re safe here then please stay.”

Crowley cracked a smile, and the relief it brought to his face was staggering and beautiful. “Asking me to move in?” He said with a faux-lightness.

“You already have a bedroom,” Aziraphale pointed out.

Crowley’s smile remained in a more true way. “You wouldn’t mind seeing me around that much?”

“I think I already do. And I enjoy it.”

Crowley nodded. “We won’t run and hide, then,” he said, the words not quite a question, but not totally sure of themselves. 

“I’d like to live free,” Aziraphale said. “Doing what we want won’t make them angrier, they’re already rather at peak there.”

“So it’s more of a throw caution to the winds kind of thing, then?”

Aziraphale nodded. “If they come for us, we’ll handle it. And we’ll always come home to each other. If you're comfortable with that, of course.”

Crowley slipped closer, kneeling tall as his arm fell to curl around Aziraphale’s shoulders completely. Aziraphale found himself pulled in close, held by Crowley’s taut strength, head leaning heavily against his chest. Aziraphale could feel the quick patter of his heart and his steady breath and it was a wonder that he had lived this long without listening to the song of Crowley’s life like this. 

“I’ve been thinking this last week,” Crowley said, the words rumbling through his chest warmly.

Aziraphale smiled to himself. “I noticed,’ he said cleverly. He opened an extra eye, one that hovered around his head which could turn to see Crowley. He didn’t want to sit up, but he didn’t want to miss anything. 

Crowley smirked and rolled his eyes, rubbing his thumb against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I was trying to figure out what they were planning, but I simply have no idea.”

Aziraphale hummed. “I don’t think I can be any help to you there,’ he admitted.

Crowley sighed. ‘No, we’re somewhat lost.”

“Not lost, dear,” Aziraphale disagreed. “Out of the loop, perhaps, but not lost. Free.”

“Free, fine, I take your point,” Crowley said with a laugh. Aziraphale saw him glance at the roof, his eyes searching for something. “I don’t like to be unprepared,’ he admitted.

“We have experienced it all before, I think that’s better preparation than any theorising would be,” Aziraphale muttered. “I mean, what would you do differently if you knew Ligur was on his way?”

“Well,” Crowley said, his eyebrows flying up. “I’d be damned impressed, I killed that son of a bitch.”

Aziraphale sat up slowly, peering at Crowley with eight curious eyes. Crowley’s gaze flitted about the air and Aziraphale realised his eyes had formed physically in his surprise. “You  _ killed _ \- ?”

Crowley shrugged, a bemused grin playing across his face as he met each of Aziraphale’s eyes happily. “Holy water, baby,’ he muttered.

“Well,” Aziraphale said smartly. “That’s quite something.” He closed his excess eyes and smiled at Crowley, then a rather unlucky thought struck him. “Oh dear, I may have made some remarkably rude comments to Hastur after your trial, then.”

Crowley threw his head back and laughed. Aziraphale watched happily, it was such a sight of beauty.

“Let’s go out,” Crowley suggested after his laughter passed.

“On a date?” Aziraphale checked.

“Yes,” Crowley agreed hesitantly. Then, with more enthusiasm, “yes! A date. I’ll drive around the block and pick you up in two minutes, I’ll get changed and all!” Crowley stood swiftly, prancing away beginning to prowl around the door, peering into shadows.

“Oh, would you mind terribly- no,” Aziraphale interrupted himself. He wouldn’t relegate Crowley to second place in his priorities today. Although if he left it any longer the stains would be unbearable...

“What?” Crowley asked, interrupting Aziraphale’s confused decision making. 

“I just never finished cleaning my teapot,” Aziraphale admitted. 

Crowley stood and raised an eyebrow at him, giving up on his search for a moment. “Is that a euphemism?” He asked, his voice tight with humour. 

Aziraphale was sure there were many jokes Crowley made that he didn’t get. Sometimes he recognised a tone or a silence as one that would follow a joke but he couldn’t identify what would be funny. Now he practically felt it fly over his head as he Crowley grinned at him and he did not get it. 

“What?” 

Crowley laughed. “Never mind, how long d’you need?” 

“Half an hour?” Aziraphale asked. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Crowley agreed easily. “Aha!” He picked his glasses up from where they’d been haphazardly thrown a few days ago. He shook them once to knock the dust off and slipped them on. “I love you,” he said in a tone slightly too aware of the words to be considered casual, but it was on the way. “I’ll pick you up in, shall we say, forty five?”

Aziraphale’s heart was warm and thick and he could feel his smile growing as he watched Crowley’s beautiful blush return. “Perfect, thank you, my dear,” he agreed.

“Now,” Crowley said matter-of-factly. “Stretch before hand, I heard about a guy who got tendinitis from cleaning his teapot too vigorously.”

Aziraphale wondered if he was missing something again, but he was rather too in love to care. “Oh, it doesn’t do to be vigorous, the china is very fine, one must be gentle.”

Crowley grinned and put his hand on the door knob tentatively, ready to leave. “Gentle, I’ll remember that,” he muttered. Then he grinned. “Do watch out for repetitive stress, though, as you  _ clean your teapot _ .” The hand that wasn’t working on getting the door open dropped to his crotch and mimed a lewd pulling motion. Aziraphale returned his horrified gaze to Crowley’s face to catch that can only be called a shit-eating grin and a _ wink. _

Aziraphale began to walk towards him. “Oh, Crowley, that is not what I mean at all!”

Crowley laughed loudly and slipped out the door, closing it quickly behind himself. 

Aziraphale side stepped to the window and watched, utterly enchanted, as Crowley climbed into his car, still laughing loudly at his own joke. Crowley turned and caught his eye. Aziraphale tried for an admonishing glare but given that Crowley just laughed again, blew him a kiss, and drove off, he suspected it didn’t land. 

Aziraphale cleaned his teapots, huffing occasionally as Crowley’s implication came back to him. He set them aside to dry with twenty minutes to spare and spent that time deciding what he ought to wear. He went through a few outfits, one bravely involving black pants, before ending up in his usual clothes anyway. 

Crowley, for his part, hadn’t gotten mightily changed either. He had on a nicer shirt, still black but a full button up unlike his usual plunging neckline. It was left more than a little undone, of course, so his overall appearance was similar. He had also brought flowers which rather put any nervous thoughts behind Aziraphale for the day.

They went to a little underground Greek restaurant that day. Nothing too special, but the food was exquisite. Then for a stroll about a gallery nearby that Crowley enjoyed more than Aziraphale, but Crowley’s enjoyment was enough to make a day worthwhile. Modern art still didn’t strike Aziraphale anywhere pleasant.

The next day was similar. Crowley left in the morning and returned some time later to take him out. Museum cafe followed by a jaunt on a boat as they browsed some pamphlets and considered going back later in the week. Aziraphale kissed Crowley hungrily on the boat, filled with adoration and deeply enjoying how eagerly Crowley responded. They sat in public and kissed at last. Crowley paid quite a late fee when they finally returned the rented paddle boat.

Crowley’s nightmares calmed down again. He returned to sleeping every week or so without too much difficulty, occasionally woken by a bad memory but rarely distressed by it. They kissed when he woke and tipped steadily towards something more intimate but in their new habits kept breaking apart every time they crossed a new line together to discuss it in depth.

This habit to discuss everything may have annoyed Aziraphale slightly, he did get eager sometimes, but really he adored the ability to talk. He adored how Crowley volunteered things now. The first time he’d lain on Crowley with intent, pressing between his legs eagerly, Crowley interrupted to whisper, “I like you like this, the weight of you on me, I love it,” and Aziraphale had lost any interest in doing anything other than lay there and kiss Crowley fondly for quite some time. 

They did things for one another, not like they had in the past when they’d guessed what the other wanted or refused a request for years before acquiescing. No, now one would ask and the other would give. Crowley had no interest in taking his clothes off the human way, but Aziraphale asked so he did, and the very enthusiastic response he received made him keen to do so again. Aziraphale didn’t have much interest in sitting by Crowley as he learnt to fly a plane, but he did it. 

Crowley moved out of his flat and, at Aziraphale’s suggestion, rented an apartment across the road to do his, “dirty, demonic acts,” at. The apartment mainly contained plants and some animals that Crowley was coordinating heists with, with one increasingly full cupboard of useless technological items as planned obsolescence became more common. 

They did the things partners do, they shared their lives. Aziraphale told simply everyone about Crowley now, not bothering to keep it quiet. Crowley commented occasionally on another cafe employee’s surprised recognition at the sound of his name, but he commented on the fact fondly so Aziraphale kept it up. 

Over a year later Aziraphale was checking his bookshelves, making sure they were still put together well, that no woodworms had built up the gall to move in. Of course, the shelves were perfect, but as he walked about he spotted Crowley on the seat across the street. He’d gone home yesterday with a few boxes of new technologies that Aziraphale had begged to have removed from his shop and hadn’t yet returned. 

The memory of Crowley’s secretive watch from that seat came to mind immediately, so strongly that Aziraphale found himself avoiding looking directly at the demon, instead keeping a subtle eye on him as he made up his mind. He did so quickly and left the shop, closing the door behind him as he stalked across the road.

Crowley tipped his head up and smiled at him as he approached. “Hey, angel,” he said easily.

Aziraphale sat by him without a word, not sure why Crowley had taken up his post again. 

“Good morning so far?” Crowley asked after a few more seconds of silence ticked by.

Aziraphale did not feel like there was something wrong, which didn’t fit for him. “Why are you out here, dear?” He asked. 

“Mmp,” Crowley muttered. He glanced around, then slipped his glasses off. “Chargin’ these, see? They work off solar power.” Aziraphale looked at the thick framed glasses that was being waved around in front of them. He saw nothing solar powered, but he wasn’t sure he’d recognise it if they were. 

Crowley put his glasses back on, checking the street for curious onlookers again. “You okay?” He asked as Aziraphale continued to not speak. 

Aziraphale took a breath. “You on this chair has odd connotations for me,” he explained slowly, but without stress. Crowley was okay and Aziraphale didn’t mind admitting to his worries anymore. 

“Ah, shit, yeah,” Crowley breathed. “I didn’t think of that. I’m cool, though, I am.”

Aziraphale spent a moment looking at him, believing him and appreciating how special it was to believe and trust like. He put his arm over the back of the chair, resting warmly against Crowley’s shoulders. “Why do glasses need power anyway?” he asked widely.

Crowley grinned and leaned into his touch. “They connect to my phone, there’s a little, um, computer person in there and they can tell me the time and how many bees are left and the weather and if…”

Years passed as they grew calmer and happier. Heaven and Hell got back in touch on occasion and it was reliably horrible, but they recovered together. They shared their bed and walked the streets of London in love and things were perfectly nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh guys oh guys it's done! and in an act i'm proud of, this trauma recovery, 30,000 word fic ends with a masturbation joke, so i hope yall got a chuckle lol  
thanks for the ride, everyone <3


End file.
